


Broken Boundaries

by andromedellla



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, Head Boy/Head Girl, Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV Alternating, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 66,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedellla/pseuds/andromedellla
Summary: Draco could not be less excited to return to Hogwarts for his eighth year in a row, that is, until he finds out who his fellow head girl is. Hermione is ecstatic to return to Hogwarts to finish up her education, that is, until she finds out who McGonagall expects her to work with. Suddenly, both have the feeling that they're travelling too quickly on a train going straight to disaster.EWE, but canon-compliant until the last few chapters of DH. Not your typical eighth year trope, no room-sharing here.





	1. D

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER
> 
>  **The first two chapters are a retelling of several scenes selected from HBP and DH from Draco's perspective.** It should be noted that I by no means claim ownership of the plot or any dialogue included within these two chapters (or the rest of the work) which resembles or matches that which can be found in the Harry Potter series. I neither own the characters nor profit in any way from writing this.

  
  


**Prelude**

He had known since the day he first caught sight of her bushy hair and her deep brown eyes that she was going to be trouble. From their first potions class onward, she remained the ever-prominent thorn in his side. She was brilliant, well aware of it, and frequently saw to it that everyone else knew it as well. When she set her mind on success, which was always, he was hard-pressed to figure out ways to best her. 

He had come home at the end of first year to Malfoy Manor spewing all the ways in which he found he completely and utterly detestable. From her know-it-all mannerisms, to her overrated friend group, to the unnatural combination of her wizarding ability and family background, he thought her the worst thing he'd ever had the misfortune of coming across- with the possible exception of Saint Potter. 

From then on he was always just barely not good enough. Second place bore the site of his eternal damnation. The only thing he could possibly hold above her was quidditch; but then, Potter always saw to it that he remained outshined in that area too. 

As if his own personal shame complex didn't work hard enough, his father scolded him near-constantly. Obviously if a mudblood was out-performing him, he wasn't trying hard enough. But no matter how hard he worked, she always won.

And he hated her for it. 

Then, just when he thought she couldn't get any more insufferable, he fell for her. Merlin have mercy, if his father ever found out. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, pride of the pureblood elite, harboring a juvenile crush on a muggle-born. If that wasn't reason enough for his father to disown him, he didn't know what was. If anything, her confounding irresistibility made her all the more hate-able. Because he didn't know what exactly to make of her, his immediate reaction was to reject her and her irregularities. 

So he released his pent up frustration in the only way a spoiled young Slytherin knew how. He had always considered his ability to conjure a solid insult one of the finer pieces of his non-magical skill set, so conjure insults he did: lots of them, whenever possible. Yet she still held an air of superiority over him, never giving him the satisfaction of a good reaction.

To put it simply, she was the most frustrating, impossibly-perfect imperfection he'd ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. 

  


* * *

  


Sixth year brought about a severe awakening for Draco. The dark arts had always been somewhat of a hallowed art form to him and one that constantly tempted his curiosity. With the return of Lord Voldemort came the use of magic he had merely read and daydreamed of. But what he hadn't imagined was the pain, death, and terror that followed in its cold wake. 

A great honor. That's what his aunt Bella had called it. And for a while, he had agreed.

A few days before the start of his sixth year at Hogwarts, Voldemort had summoned Draco to his father's study, now the place the dark lord would sit and scheme when he wasn't off taking care of other things. No one accompanied Draco as he walked up the dark marble steps of his house to the set of ebony doors etched with morphing golden detailing. He didn't know whether to knock or enter but to his surprise the doors opened as he neared them. 

Voldemort stood with his back towards him, looking out of a dark-curtained window overlooking the courtyard. A few sinister books lay on the table with a few equally as sinister-looking artifacts. A huge snake lay curled on one of a pair of black leather armchairs facing the desk. As he entered, Draco also saw in the corner a man suspended upside down with blood dripping slowly into a puddle on the floor, seemingly unconscious. At least, that’s what Draco hoped. He approached slowly but stopped abruptly upon realizing that he could see a little too much detail in the diamond pattern the snake carried atop its back. 

Voldemort turned to face him. Piercing red eyes betrayed the spite he carried for the Malfoy family. However, his voice pretended that nothing lay amiss, and Draco remained ignorant of the man's malice. Speaking in a cold, rasping voice, he told Draco of a special and secretive duty he would have him carry out by the end of the year. Only a select few would be told, he promised. He was granting Draco free range to plan his attack with an end of the school year time limit as a the only condition of his obligation. 

Excited at the aspect of being given such an important task, Draco accepted in earnest. It was far too late by the time he realized what his bidding truly was: a suicide mission. 

For a while, he was quite proud to have been gifted such an "honor." Upon his return to Hogwarts, he boasted his importance to his friends, walked with more swagger, and hungrily dreamed about the opportunities he would have to serve the dark lord further if he was to succeed in his mission. He felt certain that this was a sure-fire way to achieve the greatness he so-long had craved and hunted. 

But as the days passed, one thought became tangible and he realized he could deceive himself no longer; he would have to kill another person. 

Draco worked endlessly to please the dark lord. Hours turned to days which turned to weeks as he devoted his time to puzzling out a way to carry out an assassination. For the first time in his life he let his grades, relationships, and even his most prided past-time, quidditch, go by the wayside. Even the pleasure he took in bantering with stuck-up Gryffindors lost its appeal. 

Along with it went his sanity. 

Stressed beyond measure at the fear of Voldemort taking what little he loved in the world, he worked tirelessly on his plan. Many nights he lay, paralyzed, with his eyes staring blankly into the dark green curtain draped atop his bed as his fear and sense of duty fought for purchase in his mind. 

Every second Dumbledore stood living and breathing was another day cut from the lives of himself and his family- that Voldemort had made quite clear. 

Only on the days when the strain became unbearable, and the pain in his chest mounted to such a substantial level- feeling as though it could actually crush him- would he let the tears fall. Cut-off, lonely, and lost, Draco spent those days held up in the most private places he could find as the hot tears cut down his cheeks and the sobs he could not withhold materialized from somewhere deep within, racking his body numb. 

He would use the piece of himself that so yearned for grandeur in desperate attempt to calm the hysteria that rose as if to choke the very breath out of him. Each time it betrayed him, giving way to his deep myriad of anguish easily. It was a hopeless attempt, much like trying to quench a forest fire with a teacup of water. Deep down, he knew that he was not meant to have gone so far down the road to destruction. 

For the sake of his family he pushed on. His father, the imperfect man that he was, did not deserve the punishment Voldemort surely had waiting for them should Draco fail. Though his father was forceful, though he was often biting, ill-tempered, judgmental, and sometimes even downright cruel, Draco would never wish death upon him. He understood his father's motivations: the Malfoy name was sacred. Draco had been reared to uphold it as such, as had every male heir down the line for hundreds of years. Each was expected to deeply respect and bring honor to the Malfoy name. After all, there was nothing stronger than blood to a Slytherin.

Then there was his mother. A fallen angel cursed to live amongst demons. His mother had always made it quite clear that she expected nothing from him save only that he try his best in whatever he did. She supported him unequivocally it seemed, most especially when his father seemed eager not to and loved him with simple adoration. Though he had come to regret it since, Draco had insisted his very first year that she not send him sappy "mummy letters," as he had put it, so as not to embarrass him in front of his classmates. She had agreed not to, sending goodies instead, and refrained to doting on him and asking him about school on holidays.

He noticed that she was always willing to devote her attention to him should he wish to talk about his thoughts and interests, never criticizing, but simply lending her ear. She would even praise what he wouldn't dare call his "accomplishments" even when his father would scoff. Second best, it seemed, was good enough for her. And though Draco himself could not settle for it, he loved her dearly for her acceptance and support.

He pressed on, mainly for her. In the privacy of his mind, he hoped longingly to rid himself of the task at hand, but when faced with the opportunity to do so, pride won out. Something about the thought of his potions master taking the credit for everything rubbed had him the wrong way and he declined the offer discourteously.

In the end, it did not matter. All of his efforts- his tireless planning, the hours he spent on fixing the vanishing cabinet and executing his plan, and all of the wasted tears- amounted to nothing. 

When the time came and he was standing face to face with his headmaster, he couldn't do it.

Draco had been kidding himself to think otherwise. He should have known before he ever set foot in the astronomy tower that night. No matter how much he tried to delude himself, he wasn't ready. Yet there he stood, forcing his eyes to connect with Dumbledore's, franticly attempting to scrape up anything reminiscent of an intention to kill and was left with nothing but fear.

His Aunt Bella had instructed him on how to perform the killing curse numerous times. Like the other unforgivable curses, they required the user to truly mean them. And that was precisely what tripped him up every time. He could get past purely on spite for the cruciatus curse, but he had never hated someone enough to want to kill them.

Before him stood a man for whom he truly had no malice. 

Suddenly from amongst the jeering of his fellow death-eaters and the noise of his own internal battle came the call of the death curse gravelly and unfeeling from behind him with a blinding flash of green light. He looked back to see the dark eyes of Severus Snape staring ahead at the now falling body of Albus Dumbledore. A blank expression had replaced the headmaster's ever-illuminated face and Draco watched with horror as he toppled backwards off the edge of the astronomy tower. 

With green light still searing in his eyes and an emptiness in his heart, panic urged him to follow behind his whooping and cheering comrades. He was distantly aware of Potter screaming somewhere close behind them as they tore down the hill away from Hogwarts. Like a coward, he disappeared, hoping that he could will himself to outrun his problems.

But he was wrong. In the weeks to come, they only worsened, resolving to weigh on his mind like soaked clothes.

Some days after the event, he sat in a secluded corner of Malfoy Manor's courtyard with his eyes closed and his head pressed back into the tree he was leaning against. For the past few days he had sought the spot for a place to think quietly and to escape the claustrophobia the suppressive walls of the manor sparked within him. With a sigh, he looked out from under the tree and around at the macabre décor of the gardens which were casting ghastly shadows on the cold ground. The clouded grey sky made everything seem more unfeeling than usual and seemed to reflect the emotions he had twisting around inside him. 

Whether a blessing or a curse, he could not tell which, the tears that had so often flooded his eyes in the past year seemed strangely evasive. An empty pit sat within him, balling all emotions into the indistinguishable torpid mass. In spite of Draco's own actions, Snape had done the deed for him, sparing him from what he now knew would have torn him apart completely. 

The dark lord, though noticeably colder to Draco now more than ever, had congratulated the two of them upon their return, which was accompanied by the news of Albus Dumbledore's death. He noted that he was pleased with Draco's success in mending the vanishing cabinet but had quickly moved on to praise Snape for his great loyalty. It made no difference to Draco. All he wanted to do was disappear. 

His mother would rarely meet his eyes anymore. Dinners without his father were silent and empty as the two of them sat quietly, several seats apart, at their large dining table. Draco remained as evasive as he was comfortable with for the remainder of the summer months.

Several weeks after Dumbledore's death, his father was returned home from Azkaban, for what Draco could only assume was due to his half-success with the vanishing cabinet. Lucius Malfoy returned a more quietly reserved man than Draco could remember him ever being. Sunken eyes and expressionless faces were a sign of the times, and few were left unaffected. Draco could barely recognize his own reflection in the mirror. His cheekbones and jawline were more prominent than ever upon his already sharp face and dark lines had etched themselves in deeply below his eyes. 

He was surprised when he was sent back to Hogwarts for his seventh year. With all the chaos surrounding them, he had not given any thought to the place since his most recent and abrupt departure from it. Surely his mother had had everything to do with it. She had always stressed to him the importance of education. 

In some ways he was relieved- anything was better than sitting in the inescapable despair that now seemed to spill out of Malfoy Manor. But upon his arrival, he found that Hogwarts' usual appeal had gone, now replaced with the same hollow sadness that enveloped everything in its path like a disease.

He laid low all year. Though many of his Slytherin classmates were ecstatic in the change of aesthetic, Draco couldn't bring himself to agree with them. The Carrows easily became a hit amongst his dormitory and were a favorite second only to Snape because of what Draco could only assume was senior familiarity. Those of his long-standing friend group spoke of Dumbledore's assassination with fascination and of Snape with reverence that disturbed and sickened him. 

It was during this time that Draco woke so frequently in the middle of the night in a panic of cold sweat, the green light of the killing curse still searing in his vision. 

But the nightmares didn't stop when he woke in the morning.

Defense Against the Dark Arts had never been his favorite class. In his younger years he'd scorned the lessons and their respective teachers. He had no desire to protect against the Dark Arts. Oh, how he had longed to practice them! In seventh year his childish dream came true but, by then, his naïve infatuation with the dark arts had long since left him. 

The very thing he had wished so desperately to flee from this past summer was being forced upon him. Jinxes and curses alike with frequent use of both the imperius and cruciatus curse were the daily class materials. Lesson after lesson he would grit his teeth and pray to do the least amount of damage possible. He watched with horror one afternoon as Crabbe and Goyle readily volunteered to torture a pair of Gryffindor second years as punishment for skipping class. 

_Trapped_. The word echoed about his brain constantly. He longed to flee somewhere safe and secluded far away. 

In spite of himself, his thoughts often wandered to the missing Gryffindor trio, with an emphasis on the muggle-born he, despicably, still couldn't shake his feelings for. He found their absence unsettling and it seemed that no one knew where they were. Obviously Hogwarts wasn't safe for them anymore, but what they were doing, he couldn't imagine. 

In some respect, no news was good news. If anything happened to any one of them, everyone would know.

Truthfully, he remained on the fence about his nemeses. Though they were still absolutely despicable in every way to him, he had noticed more and more areas of his mind turning to grey since the rise of the dark lord and their sector had turned with it. It seemed like every passing day something happened which caused him to confront his outdated ideals.

The school year passed quickly, without major incident, and soon Easter rolled around, bringing with it an unexpected test for Draco's loyalties. He was shocked, one dark evening, when he was called down from the privacy of his room, to find the trio restrained in his family's drawing room. Immediately he recognized Weasley and Granger and not long after became quite certain that the other boy standing in front of him was none other than Potter himself. Blemished or not, there was no way Draco could forget such spectacularly despicable face. 

Yet he remained uneasy. His father's whispers had not persuaded him. As he gazed into the green eyes of his rival he was transported back to the bleak night on the astronomy tower. Dumbledore stood in front of him, defenseless and at his complete mercy. And in front of him knelt a boy in the same state. And just as he had realized on the night nearly a year ago, he recognized now: he held no true malice for Harry Potter. 

He held on, stalling, answering as vaguely as he could, hoping he would not be forced to decide the boy's fate. Panic crept up on him as the others in the room positively identified the other two and as his Aunt came in and prepared to summon the dark lord. 

To his immense relief, the situation never presented itself for his Aunt Bella had become distracted by what, astoundingly, seemed more important than the capture of Harry Potter. Light shown around the room as his Aunt shrieked. The snatchers that had delivered the trio escorted both boys away and Draco was shuffled back by his mother. He glanced past the threatening silhouette of his Aunt, briefly catching sight of a set of terror-filled brown eyes before shadow covered them.

The desire to run wound its way sharply around his heart but fear bound his legs together as if someone had cast an impedimenta jinx upon him. He was forced to endure the screams of the owner of the brown eyes as they ricocheted around him. He grit his teeth and tightened his fists in an attempt to create enough tension to block out the sound as she was tortured not ten feet away from him.

Suddenly Harry and Ron burst into the room bringing about the merciful end to the tortured screams. Partially because he had been startled and partially because he was aware of his father right behind him, Draco sent a few expelliarmus charms in the boys' direction. They expertly dodged his halfhearted attempts and Draco released his held breath. Privately, he was hoping that the boys would come out on top. 

The feeling of relief was short-lived, for the next second his heart was dropping to his stomach, his eyes having turned to see Hermione trapped in his aunt's arms with a wand pressed firmly against her neck. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from her to follow his aunt's orders and retrieved the wands the boys had been forced to surrender. Panic swelled in him again when his Aunt Bella prepared to hand her captive over to Fenrir Greyback.

Just before she had relinquished her hold, a squeaking noise sounded from high above. He glanced up just in time to see the drawing room's great crystal chandelier freed from its chain and watched as it crashed down upon Hermione and the goblin his Aunt had summoned for questioning. He cowered as the shards of the chandelier flew past him, cutting into his face and hands. 

Soon Harry was on him, wrenching the wands he held out of his grip. Draco caught a glimpse of his own wand amongst the mix and went to spring after him but was pulled back firmly by his mother to a corner far away from the scene. Out of harm's way, he watched as Dobby, his old house elf, disapparated along with the Goblin and the Gryffindor trio.

Nothing he had ever experienced prepared him for the rage that the dark lord brought with him when he appeared at the house not moments later and was met with stutters and desperate excuses.


	2. D

He didn't see the trio again until the night the dark lord launched his attack on Hogwarts. Draco was in the process of being shuffled out of school prior to the attack only to be caught before he had a chance to get away by none other than his old mates, Crabbe and Goyle. Supposedly, they'd picked up on the details of Harry's reappearance and insisted that he accompany the two of them to stand guard outside and help them get into the room of requirement. 

Frustrated, he contemplated their offer. He didn't want to help them do anything much less did he want to go back into the school, which was growing more dangerous by the second. But then, what would they think if he said no? What sort of tricky questions would they ask him? What excuse did he have to turn them down? With great reluctance he agreed and followed them, looking longingly back on the group of students exiting through the school's large front doors.

They waited together, concealed by a disillusionment charm. Soon, Harry made his appearance, followed closely by Hermione and Ron. Draco was forced to hold his two companions back, whispering furiously that it was important to enter separately. Truly, he couldn’t care less about the diadem thing that Potter was supposedly after but, unlike his daft comrades, knew a premature confrontation would end poorly for all involved. 

When the trio vanished along with the door to the room of requirement, he walked three times back and forth imagining the room in which he had spent so much of his sixth year. 

Once inside, Draco soon found himself wincing at the ruckus the large boys behind him were causing as they wound their way through the towering piles of long-forgotten items. The two brutes had the combined stealth of a charging heard of erumpents, yet despite the disturbance, they soon found themselves face to face with their target.

An important thought occurred to Draco a split second too late and the delicateness of his situation came crashing down upon him. 

He hadn't come to interfere with Harry Potter's plans. He was there because Crabbe and Goyle would rat him out for disloyalty if he acted too suspicious. Suddenly he was painfully aware of how carefully he would need to tread. In the meantime, he needed a ploy, some other reason to be standing there. His eyes fell on the dark length of wood clutched firmly at the Gryffindor's side and it came to him. Of course, he knew that there was no way he would get his wand back, but with a limited amount of non-sinister motives at his disposal, he was forced to jump on the excuse.

"That's my wand you're holding, Potter."

Draco scoffed when Harry, in an obvious attempt to stall, feigned innocence and dumbly asked how they had gotten into the room. For a moment though, he almost felt sorry- the two of them had the same goal in mind: to buy more time. But the attempt was so pitiful, Draco couldn't resist the urge to retort sourly, "I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year. I know how to get in." Potter knew good and well why he knew all about the room. 

Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when the unmistakable voice of Ron Weasley called from behind a nearby pile. Crabbe wasted no time and went straight to his mass destruction setting, shooting all sorts of disruptive spells around randomly. Furniture and other unidentifiable objects crashed to the floor around them and Draco ducked to avoid a falling chair. 

Upon recovering, he grabbed Crabbe, equally fearful and furious at the boy's complete lack of tact. Presently, he thought of a way to buy some time and came upon yet another somewhat-reasonable excuse. 

"No! If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!"

But Crabbe seemed resolute to forget that the diadem held any importance and instead lashed back, scorning his advice and proclaimed in a savage tone that he would no longer take orders from the likes of Draco. 

Icy anger ran through Draco's veins. Obviously Crabbe was also determined to forget that he and Goyle were the reason they were all in this mess in the first place. Draco hadn't asked to come along, quite the contrary. And now, he was just trying to keep everyone in the room in one piece, an intention the large boy seemed set to thwart.

Draco had no time to react to this though, for the next moment he saw Harry take advantage of the delay, lunging for a dingy silver tiara on a ratty bust. Crabbe lunged forwards out of Draco's firm restraint and shot a cruciatus curse in Harry's direction. Draco thought frantically of another reason to keep the Gryffindor boy alive. 

"STOP! The dark lord wants him alive!"

It was common knowledge that the dark lord wanted to finish Harry off himself. Draco hoped that, at the very least, Crabbe would remember to respect the dark lord's wishes.

But the situation was quickly spiraling out of hand and several things happened in rapid succession with disastrous results. Draco just barely dodged a spell off Hermione and stumbled into Crabbe on his way down, unintentionally saving him from the same spell. Next second, and to his complete horror, green light shot out of Crabbe's wand as he yelled the killing curse, narrowly missing a few lone curls as Hermione ducked behind a nearby tower. Harry sent a stupefy charm at the large boy who managed to dodge it but knocked Draco's borrowed wand out of his hand in the process.

Now panicked at the loss of his only defense and desperate to keep Crabbe's anger at bay, he shouted nervously, making a last feeble attempt to dissuade him from killing Harry. For a moment, his warning seemed to have its intended effect and Crabbe turned his wand away. But no sooner had he turned his back on one Gryffindor boy than the death-hungry boy immediately turned to run after the other, firing killing curses at Ron instead. With no wand to protect himself, Draco ducked behind a large wardrobe as Hermione charged at them with a fiery determination in her eyes, successfully stunning Goyle who fell sideways and lay beneath one of the towering piles of junk. 

And just when things seemingly couldn't get worse, all hell broke loose. A great whooshing sound echoed about the cavernous room and he saw bright light projecting upwards a few piles of junk away. Abnormally large tongues of fire lashed upwards over the haphazard mountains of rubbish. Fear struck close to his heart and he turned to run. He tripped over Goyle's limp body and in a split decision of selflessness, picked him up and dragged the boy behind him. Crabbe raced cowardly past them, tearing a clear path through the objects littering the floor.

It wasn't long before Draco had lost sight of the others and found himself surrounded by fire on all sides. 

With the only the slightest hope of survival lying upwards, he somehow managed to sling Goyle over his shoulder and pull him up a lofty tower of junk that lay closest. Fortunately, most were sturdy desks and his climb was not particularly difficult. Flames lapped at his heels as he frantically scrambled upwards, sweating in the scorching heat now filling the room. He reached the top and searched for anything he could use to help get them out. Panic filled his chest as an inhuman scream split its way through the room. Thunderously loud flames sounded around him. 

He looked down at Goyle, still out cold beside him.

 _This is the end_ , he thought defeatedly. 

A faint whooshing sound came from his left and her turned to see Harry shoot from between two flaming towers, hurdling towards them on a broom. He grasped Goyle tightly with one hand and reached the other high above him. But with the sweat pouring off him, his hand slipped as the two made contact. He unceremoniously wiped it upon his shirt as firmly as he could and held it high once more. This time Ron and Hermione accompanied, shooting by to hoist Goyle onto their own broom. Shortly after, Draco was safely seated behind Harry on a decrepit-looking broom, darting off towards the room's exit. 

He felt sick as he glanced down at the now colossal flames reaching up to grasp at them. Suddenly, Harry steered their broom in the opposite direction of the door. He protested with panic, reminding him worriedly that the exit lay the other way. But he was ignored, as their broom was steered into a dive and they began heading straight for the flames. He screamed and held on tightly, shutting his eyes as he waited to feel the flames overtake him. But the heat did not come. Instead, he felt a rush of cool fresh air just before a crash sent him rolling off onto the stone floor of the seventh floor corridor. 

His whole body ached and his quickened heartbeat pulsed brutally in his head. Wincing, he sat up against the wall behind him. He looked around and faintly muttered Crabbe's name. Ron spat what he had also suspected. 

Crabbe had gotten what he deserved. 

Green light blared in his mind as his mind replayed an image of wavy brown locks narrowly escaping electric green tendrils of death. He risked a glance at Hermione, but found her back turned to him. He slumped and looked down the hallway. Lights flashed all around, paired with the muffled sounds of yelling and crashing echoing through the empty halls. The sounds were growing louder.

Goyle stirred beside him. Shadows were emerging from a hallway several yards away. Without a wand to protect himself, he only stood a chance of getting hurt or becoming a burden. With little other option, he took off, working his way carefully through the eerily quiet corridors. Screams reverberated against the stone walls of the hallway behind him as he rushed on. He ran past dead classrooms navigating only by the light of the spells cast outside when they flickered their way in through the windows. 

The familiar sight of the entrance hall met him soon, but to his chagrin, so did the battle. He rushed downstairs, successfully making it to the second floor when a masked death eater stole up the grand stair case. Draco saw the man glance in his direction and knew he had been seen. He stood still as the cloaked wizard approached him, wand held out threateningly. Slowly he raised his arms above his head. "I'm Draco Malfoy! I'm one of you!" The death eater drew even closer, evidently unimpressed. 

Out of nowhere shot the light of a stunning spell and the death eater dropped in front of him. He glanced around, trying to determine the spell's caster but was greeted instead with a swift blow to his jaw. He stumbled, falling on the cloaked man crumpled beneath him. He heard Ron's unmistakable voice moving away from him. "And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!" 

Draco huffed as he ran a wrist over his mouth to catch the blood now running down his lip. His thoughts filled with bitterness. Not like Potter had stolen his wand or anything. And for that matter, it was hardly his fault that he'd lost the second one. How did the Weasel expect him to defend himself against a death eater if he had no wand? 

Yet he knew he deserved the jab. He was thoroughly guilty of standing on the fence. A grimace spread on his face as he thought back to the nearly deadly escapade he had joined in the room of requirement. He should have never agreed to accompany Crabbe and Goyle- should have known that there was absolutely no way the situation would have had a positive outcome. It was far too late now in any case.

He searched the wizard beneath him in the hopes of finding the man's wand but found that it had broken under the man when he had collapsed. With a grunt, Draco used the banister to pull himself up. Fatigue threatened his limbs but he knew that without a wand he was still in danger. So, with a last regretful look at the battle-blocked exit a floor below him, he turned to make his way back to the hallway he had just come from.

It occurred to him that he was in a real predicament. His working strategy involved heading back towards the room of requirement with the hopes of finding the passage out to Hogsmeade, if, and it was a big if, the room still worked. The plan was very likely to change, however because first and foremost, he needed a wand. He wasn't about to head anywhere without one. 

Draco cautiously retraced his steps back through the eerily empty halls of the school. Peeking around the corner, he looked down the seventh floor hallway and saw collapsed bodies lying in the deserted corridor. Slowly, sticking closely to the wall, he made his way down. The first things he passed were a few mangled desks and the rubble of what looked like an empty suit of armor. 

He soon came to a death eater, searched his person, and again came up empty handed. He cursed under his breath. Did the universe hate him that much? There were hundreds of wizards doing battle around him and somehow he couldn't get his hands on a single bloody weapon? 

Fortunately, the next death eater he searched gave him just the object he was hoping to find. It was a fairly simple dark wand, not too different from his own in fact, with a slightly raised triangularly-faceted hilt. It would have to do, he didn't have time to be picky. 

He grasped the wand firmly, the comforting sensation of being properly armed settling over him. Instinctively, he scanned for familiar faces as he continued down the corridor. A slight sigh of relief escaped him when his scanning eyes found only death eaters and the rubble of broken furniture. 

But no sooner had the breath passed his lips than his eyes came to rest on none other than one of the Weasley twins, lying in a recess of a wall a few feet away from him. At first he wanted to believe that he was mistaken- that the lifeless eyes before him were merely the product of a petrification spell. But as he gazed upon the pale, unmoving face, he knew the man in front of him lay dead.

A shutter ran through his body. He remembered how, instantly, Crabbe had resorted to the killing curse. He thought of all of the unnecessary and gain-less violence that had taken place in his home for the past two years. The lifeless eyes of Albus Dumbledore flashed in his mind. When would it all end? 

But he already knew the answer, in fact, he had known for a long time. If Potter succeeded, the war, the fear, the violence of it all would cease. Whatever personal issues he still had with his rival Gryffindor, it donned on him suddenly that they were, for the first time in their lives, on the same side. And as much as he was loath to admit it, he was confident that he was siding with the winning team. Potter's flagrant bravery and foolish nobility complex, for once, were just what they needed.

With new-found hope spurring him forwards, he took off to find a place where his newly acquired wand could be of help. 

He followed the nearest sounds of battle and raced down several staircases until he came upon the scene that explained all the desks he'd seen scattered about the hallways. In the courtyard, Professor McGonagall was fighting a gang of acromantulas, accompanied by a small army of bewitched desks. Drawers popped haphazardly from their wooden frames, stunning the large spiders, as the furniture made headway through the enemy's ranks. The transfiguration professor was taking out monsters left and right, soundlessly firing off spells he'd never seen before. 

He shot off a few stupefying charms and some petrifying jinxes, all of his spells hitting their targeted spiders. He was surprised. The wand seemed to obey him fairly well, even better than his mother's had. He noted that McGonagall seemed to have the situation under control and looked around to see where else his wand would help. 

He was making his way across the courtyard to help a band of students when a blast sounded to his right and he ducked and ran to take cover. Rubble showered down, crushing desks and spiders and only narrowly missing students and death eaters alike. He saw the crude face of a giant appear through the smashed wall of the courtyard brandishing a rather nasty-looking spiked club. His eyes darted over to McGonagall who was attempting to do several things at once. She was sending protective spells towards the students dodging the last remaining bits of rock while also attempting to hold off the remaining twenty or so spiders. All but a few of her enchanted desks had been crushed in the wake of the wall's destruction. Still, she was managing fairly well. 

She was not, however, in any position to also fend off a giant. A giant that proved, quite literally, an enormous problem as he slowly stomped his way through the remainder of the wall. Draco fired off several jinxes but noticed very quickly that he was doing no harm. He tried numerous spells from his arsenal, jinxes, hexes, and charms alike but everything seemed to bounce off. The giant roared in frustration and raised his club to attack. Draco ran and dodged behind a particularly large piece of fallen wall. The club came down with a thunderous boom, shaking the ground beneath him. He ran again, this time taking refuge within the corridor of an intact outer wall. 

He was fortunate to look over at McGonagall just in time to see a masked death eater, wand raised, about to fire a spell behind her back. He sent a stupefy jinx shooting past her shoulder, hitting the man squarely in the chest and sending him hurtling backwards. Startled, she quickly whirled about to look behind her and then turned, meeting eyes with Draco, nodded to him, and then cracked a slight smile. He nodded back and turned to face the giant again. The large bloke had already found Draco's new place of refuge and was stamping his way over. Draco took off again, trying to think of a way to take down his hearty adversary. 

At the moment, he was at least providing enough of a distraction to keep the giant's attention away from the others in the courtyard. He picked up a few rocks and attempted to pelt them at the giant's eyes. Unfortunately, his throwing accuracy left more to be desired than his jinxing accuracy and half of his stones never even hit. He cursed at himself, noting that it took a particularly poor arm to miss a target as big as a small house. 

The giant's club was now raised high in the air, ready to strike, so again Draco took off. This time, he dodged the swing more narrowly, stumbling as the crash shook the ground violently. He stood quickly and ran off. He was now becoming increasingly more worried. Running and dodging were the only things he could do. Without a strategy, particularly one involving magic, his luck would run out. Time was running short. _Think_ , he told himself. 

He ducked to avoid a swipe of the giant's large calloused hands but when he took off running again his foot caught on a piece of rubble. Crashing forwards, his shoulder took the blow and when his body crumpled against the pavement he heard his wand clattering off to the side. He cried out as pain shot down his arm. The crashing sounds of the giant's footfalls grew closer. Draco struggled to get up but his arm came out from underneath him when he attempted to use it to pull himself up. 

Through blurred vision he saw the tall, dark silhouette of the giant towering above him. The sound of his blood pumping roared in his ears and everything went fuzzy as flung himself sideways, rolling a few times across the courtyard's cobbled ground. He knew it wasn't going to be enough. He heard the whoosh of the club and the crack when it hit but felt nothing. He opened his eyes to see the faint walls of a protective charm surrounding him. Pieces of the giant's broken club were clattering off to the side the remaining stub held firmly between the giant's hands. Letting out a deafening roar, the giant turned to look at McGonagall. 

All the spiders now done away with, she stood firmly planted with her wand raised squarely above her head. With a crack and a gust of wind, energy pulsed from the end of her wand as she released a powerful spell Draco could not recognize. A fleeting expression of shock crossed the giant's harsh face before Draco saw it contort in an odd way. The features began to morph and contract until the giant stood no taller than a pixie. With another quick wave of her wand the creature had vanished from sight. 

He had no idea what had happened to it, but at the moment he didn't care. His gaze flickered over to his transfiguration professor as the protective barrier around him faded away. The look she gave him then was the most caring expression anyone besides his mother had given him previously.

The hours following rushed by. Following the giant's defeat, Voldemort spoke again in everyone's minds, summoning Harry and granting an hour's reprieve. During this time, Draco helped search the castle for friendly faces. Thankfully, he found very few hurt students and none dead. He was grateful- finding Fred had already shaken him enough. Upon his return, Madame Pomfrey tended to his arm and sent him off to rest with a cup of pumpkin juice. He sat in a wall recess in the hallway just outside the great hall. 

As he sipped on the drink, his thoughts strayed to his parents. He hadn't seen either of them in the parts of the castle he checked. In some respects, this was a good thing: at least they weren't hurt. However, he soon realized bitterly that they weren't likely the ones he needed to worry about anyways. The students and professors of Hogwarts weren't the ones aiming to kill. 

He brooded over his pumpkin juice and tried not to think about the events over the past few hours. Thoughts of flashing lights, loud explosions, and robed bodies strewn about the floor loomed threateningly in the back of his mind. 

He hated the idea of just sitting around waiting for the dark lord to return. How much time did they have left? Twenty minutes? Five? Draco didn't know. And where was Potter? Draco hadn't seen him at all during the time since the dark lord's last announcement. Surely he hadn't decided to turn himself in? Draco had always doubted the level of intellect the so-called Chosen One possessed, but surely he wasn't stupid enough to try and sacrifice himself. The dark lord was not a man to be trusted to keep his promises.

As he attempted to banish the threatening dark thoughts, he heard a scream from within the great hall. Seconds later, Voldemort's harsh voice bellowed again in his mind. "Harry Potter is dead." As if in a trance, Draco jumped up and followed as a max exodus of wizards poured out into the entrance hall. He stood to the side of the school's grand front doors craning to see beyond the crowd in front of him. Between the bodies, he glimpsed the dark lord standing next to Hagrid across whose broad arms lay a body. 

Draco watched apprehensively as the scene unfolded before him and before long Neville Longbottom was stepping out to confront the ranks of death eaters. But before Draco could even register the movement of the body hung over Hagrid's arms, chaos struck the scene and he found himself once again caught up in battle. He called spell after spell, firing them off at the numerous death eaters and monsters of Voldemort's ranks. 

As the battle raged on, a swarm of creatures he could not recognize appeared on the horizon. As they grew closer, he identified some of the animals as hippogriffs, but the others remained undetermined. They were a terrible sight to behold, with sleek skeletal bodies and powerful bat-like leathery wings. He quickly realized, with relief, that they were coming as friendly reinforcements. Death eaters began to take notice of the new adversaries and turned to flee. 

Amidst the battle, he saw his mother pushing her way through the crowd, calling his name. Their eyes met and soon both his parents stood beside him. As the fighting moved its way inside they found themselves in a duel with Crabbe and Nott senior. Draco's fury ignited as he looked upon Crabbe's older likeness. He repelled all the spells fired his way and before long a powerful petrification spell of his found its mark. Shortly thereafter, his mother hit Nott with a stupefy that knocked the man backwards into a wall. 

By this time, the battle had thinned substantially. Robed bodies littered the floor and most duels now consisting of several Hogwarts soldiers challenging one or two death eaters. In the center of the great hall, Voldemort battled with McGonagall, Slughorn, and a man Draco recognized from the ministry. 

The remaining death eaters were defeated quickly until the only two left fighting were the dark lord himself and his Aunt Bella. He watched with horror as his aunt shot a killing curse that was narrowly dodged by the youngest Weasley girl. Mrs. Weasley then stepped up to duel her one-on-one until a curse met its mark and his aunt collapsed. 

Draco then turned his attention to Voldemort, who battled on alone, all of his followers having fallen or fled. The room was strangely silent save for the zipping and whirring of spells and the occasional crash from casts that did not hit their intended targets. 

When the three fighting Voldemort were suddenly decommissioned, Harry came forth to duel the dark lord alone. The two spoke almost casually as the remaining Hogwarts forces watched with their breaths held. Draco couldn't help but worry as the dark lord circled about, sneering violently at Harry, waiting for the perfect moment to strike the boy down. 

With malevolence emanating from his face, Voldemort raised his wand and screamed the killing curse. Harry called out the disarming spell in the moment directly following and Draco watched as the spells met. Both seemed to join into one, time slowing as the spells held together for a moment, and then backfired on Voldemort. The Elder wand flew through the air and was caught by its true owner. The dark lord's body collapsed and hit the floor with a low thud. 

The sound had a finality about it that seemed to relieve a great tension in Draco's chest. 

There lay the monster that had caused everyone around him so much pain and suffering. As the room erupted into relieved and joyous celebration, Draco shifted his eyes sideways to look with emotion he couldn't possible name at Harry Potter, the boy who he was so glad had lived.


	3. D

Draco awoke as a sliver of light cut through the curtains and into his dark room, marking the right side of his face with a sharp white dagger. His eyes fluttered open and he stared up at the ornate ceiling of his room high above him. The date was September 1, 1998. He ran a tired hand up over his face and sat up, tilting his head to keep the bright light from shining into his eye. 

Once sufficiently awake, he made his way downstairs, his eyes casting distastefully about the cold halls as he walked. Malfoy Manor had remained quite empty since late May. Draco found this particularly refreshing given the activities that had taken place in his home in the past few years, but also found himself in a house more unfriendly than he had ever remembered. The same lonely, sad air of years gone by hung throughout the manor, as if the building itself remembered the terrible things that had happened there. 

Upon entering the dining room, he caught sight of his mother sitting quietly at the far end of the room's long table. He himself sat a couple seats down from her and waited patiently for his breakfast. A glorious plate of waffles adorned with fresh fruit appeared in front of him after a brief wait along with a small carafe of syrup and a cup of orange juice. 

Even without the slow churn of anxiety in his stomach, his appetite had managed to make itself scarce the past few weeks. He half-heartedly nibbled on a small bite of fruit and took a tiny sip of his juice. He pushed his food around for a little while, trying to look interested, then stood and headed back to his room. If his mother had noticed that he hadn't eaten much, she didn't say anything. This wasn't unusual. She'd mostly kept quietly to herself since his father had been taken back to Azkaban. 

The ministry was still holding trials following Voldemort's defeat in May. The Auror's office, of course, had its hands full with hundreds of parchment-lengths full of wizards to round up and trial. Draco had read an article about it in the Daily Prophet one morning a few weeks after the battle. The headlining story's title read THE CHOSEN ONE TO JOIN AURORS OFFICE IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING YOU KNOW WHO'S DEFEAT. 

The article mentioned that following the appointment of Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new temporary minister of magic, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, two students previously enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had been offered jobs as aurors in the ministry's ranks personally by the new minister. It went on to review the heroic feats of the golden trio leading up to and through the Battle of Hogwarts and revealed that both boys had indeed accepted Shacklebolt's offer.

Draco's father had been one of the first cases reviewed by the new establishment. Though he had abandoned Voldemort's forces in the end, he was still far from guiltless. The judgement passed included a partial reprieve as a reward for a change of heart, but sentenced Lucius Malfoy to seven years for his part in aiding the rise and return of the dark lord's power. His mother had been trialed fully and found not guilty. Draco too had been summoned to speak privately with a few members of the auror's office and was also found innocent. 

Hogwarts school was back up and running following what surely had been a summer full of repair. Draco had received his letter in late July along with the usual list of textbooks and an additional insert informing him of his appointment to head boy. His mother had been adamant about his return to school even before the news arrived. Upon learning it, however, Draco soon fell under the impression that should he resist his mother's insistence, he could expect to find himself forced to return at wand-point. 

He was not especially excited to return to school for a repeat of his would-have-been seventh year. However, he did understand newly-instated headmistress McGonagall's reasonings behind the matter. The school had been thoroughly ravaged from the battle last spring, but even if there were any intact classrooms left to take them in, no one would have desired to return for the sake of exams. In any case, they had scarcely learned anything at all last year between the Carrow's reign of terror within and Voldemort's without. Repeating the previous year was the most obvious solution, whether Draco liked it or not. 

McGonagall had given a speech about the situation to a gathering at the ministry of magic. She had touched on some points that Draco had found particularly curious. He recalled an excerpt from a different issue of the daily prophet. "It is my wish, to see Hogwarts united in a way no one has seen before. The events from the past few years have proven one very important fact to me. Hogwarts has, since its inception, produced some of the finest wizards our world has ever seen. With regret, I admit that, as a teacher, I would wish to take some credit, but the truth of the matter is this: it is not our school that is so great, but our students. I have been blessed, in my years as transfigurations professor, to teach so many wonderful children. I like to think of Hogwarts sometimes, as less like an academic institution, and more like a family. Like all families, we have our quarrels. We let things like achievements, opinions, and our quidditch loyalties draw lines between us from time to time, but when all is said and done, everyone at Hogwarts is there for the same reason. Our students come to perfect their magical craft to become great witches and wizards. 

"Our Gryffindors, hearty in spirit, prefer to use bravery on their path to greatness. Our Ravenclaws, their wit and intellect. Our Hufflepuffs know well that friendship and loyalty are important on the road to success. And our Slytherins use their resourcefulness to achieve their boundless ambition. Our school would be horribly incomplete without the presence of any one of these houses. Though each of our houses prizes a different means above all others to achieve greatness, my time at Hogwarts has proven to me that each of our students will often display all of these prized strengths during their time at our school. Throughout our battle last year, there were great deeds performed by all. I saw Hufflepuffs utilizing strategy and willpower- Gryffindors using their intellect to solve problems- Ravenclaws exercising loyalty before logic- and Slytherins acting selflessly and bravely. Indeed, our houses take pride in the things which set us apart. But when faced from without, our houses should be bound by their strengths, not divided.

"I feel that a great disservice has been done to our Slytherin house. Every year, our new students whisper the same rumors about our former Slytherin wizards. 'Not one of them that hasn't gone bad.' Year after year, Slytherins are driven away by our poor expectations based on a rumor that is not even truthful. We need to have faith in each and every one of our students, no matter what house, that he or she is brave enough, smart enough, loyal enough, and ambitious enough to do the right thing. And truly, I do. Which is why, it is my greatest hope to see _all_ of our students back at school with us on September first." 

But Draco for one remained uneasy about his return. The hardships he'd faced had changed him, there was no doubt about it. He didn't know what to think or feel any more. He had been raised to believe that a person's blood status held the key to their success. His experiences and the people he had met told him the opposite. He had once held pride in the power Slytherins had wielded throughout history. First-handed experience with a powerful dark wizard had changed his mind and left him scarred. A reminder of this lapse in judgment was now prominently displayed on his left forearm. He was ashamed to return to his old dormitory. What did he have in common with anyone there anymore? 

These thoughts reiterated themselves in his mind as he returned to his room and sat down on his bed. They were the same thoughts that had been tormenting him for the entire summer. With a worried expression, he looked over at his packed trunk and then at the pieces of parchment on his bedside table. 

Sighing, he snatched them up and read over his Hogwarts letter again. He still couldn't believe McGonagall had appointed him as head boy. Even more incredulous was that things had returned to a normal enough state for the Hogwarts headmistress to give thought to such things. He read over the insert again, making sure he understood the instructions. The only major difference he could see was that this year, instead of attending a presentation in the prefect's carriage he was expected to give one. 

The faint sound of his mother tapping came from behind his door. Time to go. With a last regretful look behind him, he levitated his trunk and followed his mother down to the Manor's parlour. A handful of floo powder and some chimney soot later they appeared from a public floo not far from King's cross. After a tensely silent walk, they arrived at platform 9 3/4. His mother turned to him and looked up into his eyes and gave a slight smile. "Draco, I'm so very proud of you." 

Her hand came up to cup his cheek and her eyes began to swim. She blinked her tears away and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. Draco felt his heart begin to ache. He knew she struggled with it all as much as he did, whether she let it show or not. Instantly he was sorry to leave her. She had nowhere to go to escape the house of sorrow. 

He hugged her close and she did the same. The train gave a warning whistle and Draco was forced to let go. A hiccup of emotion caught in his throat as he looked over his shoulder to see her waving goodbye. 

He boarded the train, trying his best to push his way through the crowded halls to the prefects carriage. It was just like every other school year. Talkative first and second years darted energetically about the train, fifth years huffed as they lugged heavy trunks full of books behind them, and the uproar of students' owls, cats, and toads sounding amidst the pandemonium. 

He passed through the carriage that his own house had typically commandeered on their way to school and found it packed with a bunch of chattering first years. He wasn't necessarily disappointed, as he didn't know what he would do if he found one of his old dorm mates anyways. Still, he had yet to see a familiar face. 

When he arrived outside the prefect's carriage, he stood apprehensively with his hand resting on the door handle doing his best to mentally prepare himself. Last minute, he remembered his badge, and pinned it to himself hastily. Drawing a sharp breath, he turned the doorknob and, upon entering, came face to face with a familiar pair of brown eyes.


	4. H

Hermione rose bright and early that morning. She whipped up a cup of tea, grabbed the morning's copy of the daily prophet, and munched on some toast. Rita Skeeter was back at her old antics. Not even the rise of a powerful dark wizard could put a damper on that woman's lust for gossip. Hermione devoured a second piece of toast and the rest of an article that had caught her interest before making her way back up to her room, passing a groggy Mrs. Weasley on the stairs. 

"Good morning," Hermione beamed pleasantly. Mrs. Weasley smiled slightly and gave what Hermione took as a good morning grunt. She rushed into her room and opened her trunk to recheck her packing list for the fourth time. Everything was as it should be. Lying back on her bed, she read over her Hogwarts letter, textbooks list, and the enclosed letter detailing her duties as head girl for the sixth time in the past few days. 

She was ecstatic to return to Hogwarts. Of course, hunting Horcruxes with Harry had been the most important thing for her to do last year, but she missed learning. She missed classes and friends and being a part of the Gryffindor family.

She was disappointed when Ron and Harry had opted to take auror positions at the ministry, insisting initially that they should finish their education. It didn't take her long to realize that it made little sense for the boys to return. They wouldn't learn anything particularly useful from a couple more potions classes or so-called Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons that they hadn't already learned from their real-world experience. The aurors office gained two skilled wizards when her friends joined, but that wasn't going to stop her from going back to school. She would miss them, but nothing would get in the way of Hermione Granger and education.

The boys were currently living at Grimmauld Place or, as she preferred to call it now, their new-found bachelor pad. It gave the pair easier access to the ministry while attending auror training and a space to call their own. Following Voldemort's defeat, Mrs. Weasley had invited both Hermione and Harry to come live with their family for a while, given that neither of them really had any family to speak of, but unlike herself, Harry had politely declined the woman's offer. He had later confided in Hermione that he didn't want to burden anyone with the care of him any longer. 

Though she had wanted to tell him that Kreacher would be doing exactly that sort of thing, she had managed to hold her tongue, knowing that Harry would not have taken kindly to the suggestion as most people seemed to do when she vocalized her support of elves.

Ron though had been especially eager to move out of the crowded house he had lived in for so many years. He had packed half his room before Mrs. Weasley found out he had even given any thought to moving at all. She had scolded, cried on, and hugged him for nearly an hour straight before leaving the room, still sniffling, only because the food she had cooking downstairs was threatening to burn. A similar scene presented itself later on the day Ron actually left. 

Yesterday, however, the boys had come to stay the night at the Burrow. They had insisted on seeing Hermione and Ginny off to their sixth and seventh years of school respectively and had managed to secure a spot of time off from auror training to come visit. 

Hermione had just finished stowing her schoolbooks away in her trunk when she heard the telltale sounds of the Burrow coming to life. Voices and the sound of clinking silverware carried their way upstairs along with the mouthwatering smell of cooking bacon. She grabbed her wand off the bedside table, tossed her papers back into her trunk, and grabbed hold of it, dragging it behind her. 

The room downstairs was alive with talk and laughter. Mr. Weasley had on a jolly expression as Ron told what Hermione could only assume was a funny office story. She caught bits and pieces like the words "George" and "Wheezes" and knew immediately she wasn't likely to find the anecdote nearly so humorous.

With all of her belongings safely downstairs, she took a seat beside Ron. She helped herself to some bacon and a few roasted tomatoes to supplement the two pieces of toast she'd had earlier. To her left, Harry and Ginny were conversing about quidditch. 

Ginny would have a lot on her plate this year. She had received a prefect's badge and instructions along with her Hogwarts letter in late July. But she was also the newest Gyriffindor team captain. Hermione tuned in to catch the last bit of Harry's comment.

"…I suppose. I'm sure you'll find a decent seeker capable of getting the job done." She could tell he was disappointed not to be returning to the quidditch team, but knew that he was also quite content at the auror's office.

"I hope so," said Ginny as she stuffed another whole sausage in her mouth. Ginny was one of the most athletic girls Hermione knew, hands down. But the girl had a bottomless pit for a stomach with which she fueled her energy- not so different from another Weasley she knew. Indeed, when she glanced to her right, the boy in mention was in the process of inhaling a whole pancake and chugging a glass of pumpkin juice. She rolled her eyes but cracked a smile. 

"Oh good heavens, would you look at the time!" squawked Mrs. Weasley. "We're going to be late!" Hermione glanced at the Weasley's new and more conventional clock. 10:43. She took a last bite of her bacon and joined the mass of shuffling as everyone around the table dashed away to prepare their things. This year, they were taking advantage of the fact that it was the first year in which everyone boarding the train to Hogwarts was capable of apparition, and though apparition was nearly instantaneous, the Hogwarts Express left at 11 o'clock sharp and they still had to get into the station once they arrived in London. 

Ginny probably set a world record retrieving her things. She had dashed up the stairs and come crashing back down with her trunk thumping its way down the stairs behind her quicker than Hermione could have said "Ginevra." Ron stuffed another pancake in his mouth for good measure while Mr. Weasley called "Has anyone seen my work jacket?" He turned to find Mrs. Weasley holding it out behind him. Hermione remembered her head girl badge in her pocket and pinned it above her heart. She saw Ginny follow likewise with her own prefect's badge. Soon, they had all gathered in front of the stairs. 

"Everyone got their things?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Hermione looked over to the place where she had grabbed her trunk and noted that she hadn't left anything behind. "Yes? Alright… here we go."

Mr. Weasley began the count down. "5…4…3…2…1…" everyone grabbed the hands of the persons next to them and soon she felt the twisting sensation of apparation pull in against her gut. No sooner had her feet left the floor of the Weasley's living room than they touched down on the concrete of a quiet alley near King's Cross. 

The group made its way hurriedly into the station. Hermione glanced at a clock when they stepped through the wall and out onto platform 9 3/4. 10:55. They were cutting it close this year. 

She said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, thanking them for their hospitality and generosity for allowing her to stay with them and gave Harry and Ron farewell hugs. Ron clutched her firmly, resting his chin atop her head. He sighed as they were forced to let go, looking at her with a hint of sadness in his eyes. She caught his hand.

"I'll see you soon," she said with a smile. "I promise." He smiled back. Their hands dropped and she and Ginny climbed onto the train. She waved out the nearest window as the train gave an initial lurch and began to crawl away from the station. 

Fortunately, the two girls had boarded the train in the car just behind the prefects' carriage and, with a low amount of difficulty, managed to squeeze past their fellow students and into the more roomy second carriage of the train. They were greeted with several happy cries when they entered. Of the many familiar faces smiling back at them, notable were those of Dean Thomas, the Patil twins, Hannah Abbot, Anthony Goldstein, and Ernie Macmillan. Hermione also recognized Daphne Greengrass and her sister Astoria sitting quietly towards the back of the carriage with two other students she was not as familiar with. 

But before Hermione could take stock of the new prefects, she was pushed forwards as the door bumped into her from behind. Luckily, she managed to catch herself against the wall on her way down. Upon regaining her footing, she turned about to see who had just come through the door when her gaze fell on a pair of striking grey eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I'd love to know you're thinking. I posted four chapters in a row because I didn't want one big mega chapter, but all four of these form the basis for leading into our story.


	5. H

She stood up, startled. The pale thin face of Draco Malfoy looked back at her from just behind the carriage's door, the sight of him catching her off guard for a moment. She shifted her eyes downward and nearly started at the glint of a head boy badge pinned just below his collar. Was this a joke? Malfoy was her head of school partner for the year? She scoffed at McGonagall internally, feeling immensely put off. 

Not wanting to make a scene beyond what they had already caused, she stuttered, "I…. uh… sorry," and moved back from the door way. She watched as his eyes dropped and without saying anything, he made his way back through the carriage. Her own eyes darted around to see everyone watching as Draco walked away and found a seat beside Daphne Greengrass. Clearing her throat, the carriage's attention turned back to her. Ginny had already taken a seat beside their Gryffindor friends and Hermione now stood alone at the front of the car. 

Still shaken by her newest revelation, she stuttered a moment and then jumped into the spiel she had prepared in the weeks before school. She noticed, as she talked that, by her calculations, something seemed off about the mix of prefects before her. The carriage seemed more crowded than she remembered. Assuming the group at the back were her slytherin prefects and head boy, minus Draco, she had four. Was that all McGonagall could scrape up? 

But they seemed to have an overabundance of prefects from the other houses, more than what would have been necessary to cover the lack of Slytherin prefects. From her own house, Dean and Pavarti posed an interesting addition as, to her knowledge, they had not been prefects prior to this year. She supposed they had been selected to replace both herself and Ron. Ginny was also an odd addition, seeing as though she was a sixth year; typically prefects were selected fifth year. She counted eight Gryffindor prefects, matched by eight from Ravenclaw, and nine from Hufflepuff. Twenty-nine prefects and two heads. Each one of them had a badge pinned somewhere upon their person, so no one was there by mistake.

It certainly piqued her curiosity, but she knew that she would not get any answers until they reached Hogwarts. She stowed the oddity carefully in the back of her mind for later use. 

"Now can any of you tell me some of the duties you read about in the paper included with your Hogwarts letters?" She listened as a few prefects spoke up. When everything she was hoping to hear had been covered, she addressed them again. "Now remember, it's important to be fair with our fellow students. You've been chosen by Professor McGonagall because she is impressed by your character and thinks that you'll do a good job. Please do your best to live up to her expectations. As head boy and girl, Draco and I," she shuddered as the words passed her lips, "will be here to answer any questions you have and to act as a link between you and the headmistress." 

She stole a glance over to the boy in mention. Whether he was listening or not, he certainly didn't seem to care about his duties as head boy. Not once had he spoken to any of them. If anything, he was probably more upset at the arrangement than she was, but at least she was still doing what she was supposed to. She would have to speak to McGonagall. This arrangement most definitely would not work. Maybe there'd been a mistake.

"Any questions? No? Okay, then I think that's all I have for you. Now, I'd like our fifth years to patrol in the first third of the train, our sixth years in the second third, and seventh years in the last. There's no need to walk around the whole time, just be sure to check around every now and then." 

She moved out of the way and sat down as her prefects got up and left the carriage per her request. Soon it was just her, Draco, and the clicking of the tracks beneath them. 

"You know, you'll have to do better than that or you'll lose your head boy badge," she said dryly. He turned his head slowly to look at her.

"Bet you'd love that, wouldn't you Granger?" 

"Maybe I would!" she replied forcefully. They both growled and looked away. She had been so excited to go back to Hogwarts not an hour ago and now a certain platinum-haired prick had gone and stolen all her happiness away. 

Not wanting to spend any more time in his presence than absolutely necessary, she grabbed her bag filled with textbooks and emergency reading materials and exited the car. As she looked for a spare compartment to read in, she grimaced at the thought of working with a stuck-up sot like Malfoy all year. _No_ , she thought firmly. She would take the matter to McGonagall first thing.

Hermione managed to find a quiet and empty compartment, took out her Arithmancy book, and settled in for the long ride to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a secret pact with myself that I have to post over 1,250 words each time I update, so we have a dual-chapter update today.


	6. D

Hermione Granger was steadying herself after he'd apparently just knocked the door into her. He looked away instantly and cursed silently for already causing a scene. Painfully aware of the eyes boring holes through his back, he made his way back through the carriage. All chances of him helping to deliver a beginning-of-the-year address in the prefect's carriage were now gone. He glanced up briefly in an attempt to find a place to hide when, to his great relief, he spotted Daphne Greengrass. At last, a familiar face. 

Somehow, he had forgotten about her in the weeks he'd spent worrying about the coming year. Granted, they had never taken much interest in each other during their years in Slytherin house but he couldn't recall anything particularly negative about her. She was one of the few Slytherins he knew whose family didn't have strong ties with the dark arts. 

In their younger years, Daphne was often seen hanging around with the other Slytherin girls of his year, like Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bullstrode. In their years there, though, he had noticed that a fair amount of the time she would also just keep to herself. She was pretty enough, with dark brown hair and blue-grey eyes, but for whatever reason had never stood out to Draco. 

He took the seat between her and the window and cautiously looked around the carriage. The only Slytherin prefects sat before him. Daphne and her sister were the most familiar to him. He racked his brain. The stocky boy, with close-cropped brown hair… that was… that was… uh, Jasper….. Willis. And the girl's name was Ivy. Ivy Bracksley. Ivy was a year below him and Jasper two. He vaguely remembered that both had been selected as prefects in their respective fifth years. 

Since that meant Jasper had only been selected the year previous, technically speaking, this was his first year as prefect. Their last year had been messy and incomplete in nearly all aspects and the whole prefect business had scarcely lasted a week after they had stepped off the Hogwarts Express. He recalled hazily that Snape hadn't, in fact, even bothered to choose a head boy and girl in Draco's would-have-been final year.

Four prefects- things looked bleak. He had wondered if any Slytherins would bother to show up this year. Warm invitation from McGonagall or not, many death eaters had been imprisoned and who knew what family life was like in other Slytherin households. An unpleasant thought came to him. Maybe that was why McGonagall had chosen him. To make up for the lack of Slytherin prefects and as her own personal charity project to flaunt. Look how the school has changed, a Slytherin head boy! So progressive! There must have been at least ten other candidates he could think of that were more qualified than himself. His worst fears had been confirmed. He was only there as an example. McGonagall held no faith in him. 

At the front, Hermione cleared her throat. "Welcome back to another school year everybody. I don't know about the rest you, but personally, I'm glad to be back!" At that moment he noticed the head girl badge pinned on her shirt. That tore it. The headmistress was obviously trying to ruin him. He was hurtling at top speeds towards his most miserable year at Hogwarts to date, an astounding feat given that the dark lord had been defeated and his long-time rival Potter wouldn't even be in attendance. How was he supposed to work amicably with little-miss-perfect Gryffindor? Know-it-all Granger? Had McGonagall actually thought it through at all?

 _The woman has gone mad_ , he thought bitterly to himself.

He watched through the window as forest flickered to countryside and then back again. He tapped his foot, drummed his fingers, and shifted about uncomfortably until the meeting was called to close. Finally, the telltale shuffling of the prefects exiting the carriage came to his ears and he and the brunette were left alone. 

After a few moments of silence she addressed him. "You know, you'll have to do better than that or you'll lose your head boy badge."

He turned to look at her. That was the best news he'd heard in a while. 

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you Granger?" he sneered. Why would she pretend like she cared if he lost his badge or not? They both knew this wasn't going to work. 

She confirmed his suspicions with her reply. "Maybe I would!" 

He grumbled and turned his interest back to the window. A few moments later, he watched from the corner of his eye as she exited the carriage. McGonagall's sappy speech about unity and harmony surfaced in his memory. _Some things don't change so easily_ , he thought to himself. 

In a few hours, he would have the opportunity to talk to the headmistress himself, and he would tell her that she'd made a mistake. He was no head boy, a fact, he assumed, she very well knew for herself. 

He glanced around the empty car as it rocked gently. Alone again.

It was turning out to be a common state for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! To those of you who are continuing to read, even after those long first two chapters, ILY. (Truthfully, I'm not crazy about them, but they include some crucial points for our story going forward. I simply couldn't omit them.) Since you've read this far, if you haven't already, or if you have and you want to be extra awesome, go ahead and let me know what you think by leaving a comment! It means a lot to me, and I can't stress enough how very interested I am in hearing what you have to say. 
> 
> p.s. Going forward, I will always include a note to inform you if I've posted 2 chapters at once (though I don't intend to make this a frequent occasion) and will probably take them down at the time of the next update. In this way, I hope to avoid any confusion and allow you the greatest possible chance to read the story in its intended order.


	7. H

Hermione sat towards the end of the Gryffindor table closest to the front of the great hall, not far from the staff table, along which were seated the familiar faces of her professors including Madam Hooch, Professors Sprout and Flitwick, Madam Pomfrey, Firenze, and Professors Slughorn and Trelawney. Two new faces also sat at the table which she recognized as Aberforth Dumbledore and Arabella Figg. Hermione looked around, curious as to where Hagrid could be and beamed at him when he walked into the room a few moments later. She waved emphatically in his direction and he returned it with an equally as friendly wave and smile.

Yet even when Hagrid took his seat, the front table still felt strangely off-balance. For the first time in six years the twisting unease in her stomach came from the lack of Snape's presence instead of because of it. McGonagall's new seating arrangement was also a strange sight to behold, as she now sat in the ornate throne-like chair at the center of the table. Until that evening, Dumbledore was the only wizard she'd ever seen sitting in it. 

Energy flowed through the room, buzzing in her ears as the students sat anxiously, chattering about their summers and the school year ahead. Likely, they had even more to talk about this year than most years, what with the exciting events that had taken place in the past few months.

Before long, McGonagall tapped her glass and stood, making a motion that called for their attention. As students began to take notice, the great hall quieted slowly. She looked bold, Hermione thought, standing up straight with her head raised slightly and her jaw set firmly. 

Her voice cut evenly through the great hall, "Welcome all of you. Before we get started, I believe we have some students that need to be sorted. Let us welcome our new students to Hogwarts!" 

She motioned behind the large mass of students to the room's large doors, through which came a swarm of first years. Sounds of applause echoed about as the group shuffled to the front, glancing wildly about the spacious room. Hermione smiled at their awed faces and thought fondly of her own reaction when she and her classmates had walked into the great hall in their first year. 

When they had all reached the front and began to line up, Hermione let out a slight gasp. Nearly four rows of first years stood shoulder to shoulder in front of her. She had never seen so many young students in a new class. It occurred to her then that it must be because the group consisted of both the returning first years and a new batch coming in for the first time, given that this was, in fact, a repeat of the previous year.

McGonagall placed the sorting hat and the chair it sat upon in the middle of the room. When the sorting hat was through with its welcoming song, the great hall echoed again with applause. McGonagall cleared her throat. 

"Due to the uncommon year this school hosted prior, we will be sorting all of last year's students for a second time because, as my memory serves, our most recent ceremony was not what I would have called a great start to the school year. Those of you who have been sorted before will almost undoubtedly be placed in the same house this year. Now, without further ado, let us begin!" With a wave of her wand, McGonagall conjured a long parchment and began to read of the names of the new students. 

"Anderson, Julia." Hermione watched as a tiny little girl with blond hair blushed and scurried to the seat. The sorting hat thought for a moment and then promptly called out "HUFFLEPUFF!" The girl squealed with delight and shot off in the direction of her new house table as they cheered for their newest member.

"Ashton, Sylvia." "SLYTHERIN!"

"Atkins, Gregory." "RAVENCLAW!"

"Bailey, Andrew." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Baker, Eleanor." "GRYFFINDOR!" Hermione joined her table's applause as they whooped and whistled for the first Gryffindor student of the year. 

"Barret, Christopher. Bradley, Peter. Butler, Leslie. Campbell, Everett. Chu, An-Li. Clark, Howard. Cook, Rosalind..." The students each took their turn on the chair. It was fairly slow going as they waded through the ranks. 

A particularly odd sorting caught Hermione's attention about half way through the list. 

"McMillan, Duncan." A particularly tall young boy with green eyes, strawberry blonde hair, and an impish grin swaggered his way up to the chair. Seconds later the hat called "HUFFLEPUFF!" The boy smirked knowingly, jumped down, and made his way to the Hufflepuff table. 

"McMillan, Ian." A carbon copy of the boy that had just left the seat plopped down. Though everyone had expected as much, the hat quickly determined the next boy and shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!" Again the Hufflepuff table cheered and welcomed their new arrival. Hermione smiled. It had been a while since a pair of twins had been sorted into Hogwarts classes. But to her surprise another name sounded through the room.

"McMillan, Moira." A girl with the same green eyes, impish grin, and strawberry blonde hair tied up in pigtails sat down. If she wasn't a near spitting image of her two brothers, Hermione would have thought it an odd coincidence that they had three McMillans in attendance. "HUFFLEPUFF!" Hermione looked over and saw what could only be the little girls twin brothers grinning wildly as they welcomed her to the table.

_If they're as troublesome as they look_ , she thought, _Hufflepuff house will have a lot on their hands._

The sorting continued until they finally exhausted the list with the last boy standing. Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for "Zingerman, Otto." It was one thing to wait through a normal year's sorting list. But with probably twice the amount of students, she pitied the poor boy as he tiredly made his way over to the seat and took his place with the others at Slytherin table. The students turned to face McGonagall as they eagerly awaited the feast signifying the start of a new school year. 

"I will try not to take up too much of your time, as I expect you are all anxious to get started on our supper this evening. I have only a few quick notes to discuss with you, so please bear with me. Allow me to introduce our newest professors. Professor Aberforth Dumbledore joins us this year as our Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher and our new Gryffindor head of house. And Miss Arabella Figg has agreed to temporarily fill in as our Muggle Studies professor. Please give a warm welcome to our newest staff members." The tables made hasty applause.

"Though I am headmistress, I will be continuing as your transfiguration professor as it remains one of my most favorite duties to this school. Other things to note include the creation of a second prefects' bath for our increased number of prefects this year along with a special room we have dedicated for them in the library. It is my duty to remind those of you which are not prefects or quidditch captains that these rooms are password protected for a reason, and punishment will follow those who attempt to trespass.

"Also, I think it would encourage you to know that our staff are still working together to figure out new ways to make this the best year Hogwarts has ever seen. Though we have nothing to announce at this moment, we hope you will be excited to know that we have many ideas in the running, including, but not limited to, new academic events, school clubs, and parties. We appreciate your patience and we are excited to start this new year with you. But, I have kept you waiting long enough, so…" She waved her wand and plates heaped with food appeared along the centers of each of the house tables. "Please begin!"

Hermione dove excitedly for a plate of lamb cutlets nearby as the sounds of eating and merriment filled the great hall once more. She looked a few seats to her right to see Seamus holding the rapt attention of a group of first years. With their eyes bulging he told them about the mountain troll that had "broken in" to the castle in their own first year. "So, ye'd better watch out," he told them ominously. "Or else Filch'll send ye to the dungeons to be eaten by trolls!" He growled and a few of them shrieked. Several dropped their silverware and one little girl even sent a chicken drumstick flying. Hermione suppressed a giggle, noticing that Seamus too was trying hard not to crack a big smile. 

By the time everyone had finished eating, the plates that had once been filled with food were left with only a few crumbs and picked-over bones. Soon they were replaced with pristine new ones piled high with all sorts of desserts imaginable. She helped herself to a biscuit, nibbling on it slowly so as not to upset her full stomach. Hermione stretched and looked over at the teachers' table. McGonagall was busy speaking with Aberforth. 

Hermione waited patiently until the headmistress called for attention again and dismissed them all from the hall. "Classes start bright and early tomorrow morning, so I would advise that each and every one of you get a good nights' rest. Off to bed now. You are dismissed." 

Hermione watched as her prefects rounded up the first years from each house and led them out of the great hall and off to the houses' respective dormitories. She, however, had other business and rushed to the front of the room. Close behind her came Draco Malfoy. They arrived in front of McGonagall who was finishing up a small custard tart. 

"I need to speak with you," they both said in unison. Hermione glanced at Draco and the two exchanged withering glares. 

McGonagall finished her last bite of dessert, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and looked between the two of them. "Ah, yes my head boy and girl. If you would both follow me to my office now, we can talk this over there." 

They followed behind her quietly, each doing their best to ignore the other. Soon they had reached the headmistress' office. As McGonagall sat down at her desk they both blurted out "Professor, how do you expect-" "me to work with her?" "Honestly, he and I just simply-" "-can't get along." "I don’t want him-" "-to be head boy because I think you-" "-made a mistake. He's-" McGonagall held up her hand and they both cut off. Her look was stern. 

"So, if I hear you correctly, you think I have made a mistake." They both nodded. It occurred to Hermione that she and Draco had just said the exact same thing. "I see." She held her hands up and laced her fingers together. 

They sat quietly for several minutes until Hermione cleared her throat. 

"Yes, Miss Granger, what is it?" McGonagall addressed her impatiently. 

"Er, nothing professor." McGonagall's terseness had startled her. "I was just hoping-"

"Hoping indeed. Now, let me be quite clear with the two of you. I have given this matter quite a bit of thought, despite what the two of you seem to think. I know the history between the both of you and I expected this conversation, though I will admit that I did not expect to be meeting with you quite so soon. As two of the most responsible and level-headed young adults I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, I was hoping that you might at least try to make it through the first week, but here we are." She lowered her head and scrutinized them from above her glasses. 

"You are not the first Slytherins and Gryffindors to have quarrels and you will not be the last. But this year is all about unity and forgiveness. If I did not have the utmost amount of respect and confidence in the both of you I would not have appointed you this responsibility. The fact of the matter is, I thought long and hard about this decision and though I did give thought to other possibilities, in the end, the two of you were the most obvious choice." 

Hermione glanced at Draco, whose face was drawn and sour. Hermione stuttered, "But professor-"

"Miss Granger that will be enough. As I have already expressed to you, I am aware of the history between yourself and Mr. Malfoy. My decision is final which means you will both need to figure out a way to put aside your pride and work together. I am glad we are talking about this now because we are nipping this problem in the bud early." Her expression softened then, if only just slightly. 

"I am not asking for you two to become the best of friends. I am simply asking that you find a way to put the past behind you, as we all must do, and work together in the present for the greater good. I will not lie to you. My intentions involve making somewhat of an example of the both of you. If our students see our brightest Gryffindor and our most skillful Slytherin putting aside the same poisonous problems that have long since divided not only the houses within our school, but the people of our world, I am convinced they will follow suit. I will need both of you this year. As two of our school's best students, I am counting on you to help put in motion some of the changes we have planned. We are entering a new era, and I am confident that we are starting out with our best foot forward with the two of you."

Hermione looked over at Draco, a shadow of deep shame passing over her heart. McGonagall held so much faith in her, but how could she possibly ask her, in good conscience, to get along with this boy? The boy who had abashed and humiliated her from day one. How was she supposed to work with the boy that spoke her own worst fears? 

Besides, they were both here for the same reason. Obviously, he didn't want to be head boy either. She felt tears rushing to her eyes and stared at the ground, hoping desperately that neither would take notice.

"Now, if that is all, I will see you two tomorrow morning. Please try to get a good night's rest." 

Hermione scurried from the office and flew back to the Gryffindor common room and was relieved to find it empty as she climbed through the picture frame and made her way upstairs. Finding herself in the privacy of her own head girl room, she didn't think she could be more grateful for the solitude that allowed her to unashamedly throw herself on the bed and bawl without judgmental or prying eyes. 

Memories of the weeks leading up to this day swirled in her head, as if taunting her. She remembered how excited she had been, talking excitedly with Ginny, making all sorts of plans, and counting down the days until their departure.

She had fought against some tough things last year. She had essentially lost her parents, fought off starvation with Harry and Ron while simultaneously trying to evade capture, gone through emotional hell and back because of the latter of the two, and even watched as loved ones died in the battle against Voldemort. 

But somehow, McGonagall was asking her to accomplish something just as painful and detrimental. Demons that she had never intended to face were crawling their way out of the grave she had buried them in long ago. Draco Malfoy embodied her deepest fears of failure. He voiced the same uncertainty and shame of her blood that had haunted her since the day she received her first Hogwarts letter. 

How on earth was she going to get through the year ahead? She did not know.

Hermione sank dejectedly into her bed, now sorely missing the company of Ron and Harry, and cried until weariness numbed her and sleep bore her anxiety away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer update today. Hooray for actual plot development!


	8. D

Draco watched as Hermione turned and exited from the room. He heard her footsteps growing fainter as she descended the stairs leading from the headmasters' office. McGonagall had dismissed them, but he still had a pressing question to ask her. 

"And what is it that you still wish to speak to me about, Mr. Malfoy?" the headmistress asked tiredly. 

Draco took a deep breath. "You see headmistress, I-" he stumbled, not sure of how to phrase his question. He was still unconvinced. Something about the whole arrangement felt off.

"I don't understand… why choose me?" In all his years there she had never shown him any form of favor and, he admitted bitterly, he had never really done anything to deserve it. The woman had partially confirmed his suspicions- those being her goals to use him, and in extension, Hermione as an example of progress and unity. Despite all she had said, he remained skeptical that he had given her any good reason to appoint him. 

She spoke softly, looking wearily down at her desk. "Mr. Malfoy, I would like to confess something to you and I hope you will not take offense at this. When I spoke at the Ministry this past summer, I made reference to the noble acts performed by my students during our brutal battle. I believe I phrased it something like, 'I saw Slytherins acting selflessly and bravely.'" 

She paused to look up at him. "I was speaking about you. You saved my life last year, not only once, but twice." 

An image of a cloaked figure standing threateningly behind the transfigurations professor surfaced in his mind. He also remembered the giant and knew she was referring to that as the second instance. "But professor, you were the one that saved me. With your shield charm. Besides, I didn't take out the-" 

"No, but you did keep him distracted for quite a long time. If you had not acted, I fear that none of us fighting there would have survived." She looked sullenly into his eyes. 

"Though I did not have time to ask myself then, when I thought back on it, I wondered why you were there at all." She smiled at him in a way that made him feel left out, like she knew something he didn't. "My dear, I was not mistaken when I placed you in this position. You are a smart and resourceful young man. Though some may call it an odd combination, I think that you and Miss Granger- a Gryffindor and a Slytherin- have the potential to accomplish much." 

Draco stood awkwardly, trying to absorb what she had just said. He stood with her in silence for a while. When he realized he had nothing more intelligent to say, he bobbed his head to her in a polite nod and excused himself from the room. 

On his way back to the Slytherin dormitory, he thought about her knowing smile. She knew. She knew what was going on inside him. He found this realization strangely comforting. It meant that, to a degree, she understood all the crazy mixed up things that were happening to him or, at the very least, realized that something crazy _was_ happening. Something about the way she had smiled told him that she had figured this out long before he had. He shook his head in disbelief. Women were infuriatingly good at that sometimes.

Last year, Draco had found himself on the wrong side of a war he didn't want to fight, but his own choices had held very little say in why he was on that side. His parents had raised him in a way that sent him down a path he didn't choose. Now, after all he'd been through, right and wrong- instead of black and white- were now two undetectably different shades of grey. He had been told one thing only to turn around and find something entirely different. 

Sorrow and confusion weighed heavily on him and he realized bitterly that nothing was his anymore. His ideals were his parents'. His desires were his house's. His goals were based on a lingering sense of peer pressure. 

Who was Draco Malfoy? What did he like? What sorts of things made him happy? He didn't know anymore. He felt hollow. He felt numb. 

"Honor" he mumbled lowly when he reached the entrance to Slytherin dormitory. He entered and found it nearly deserted. Daphne Greengrass was sitting in green leather lounger reading a book on the far side of the room. He made his way silently over to the hallway leading to the boys' rooms. 

Just as he was stepping out of the common room her voice spoke behind him. "So, you decided to come back this year?" 

He turned to face her. The book she had been reading now lay open-faced on her lap as she looked at him curiously. 

"More like I was forced," he grumbled bitterly. 

"I was wondering where you were when you didn't come back from dinner." A shadow of what could have been suspicion crossed her features. Then she asked, "Mind if we have a little chat?"

Draco resisted his urge to twist his face into a scowl. He really didn't feel like talking. But he got the sense that she was hoping to ask him a few questions. Convinced only by the shrewd optimism that his mood probably couldn't get any worse, he meandered over, took a seat on a tufted black ottoman opposite her, and looked at her expectantly. 

"Well, you've looked better," she said plainly. 

"So have you," he spat. He really wasn't in the mood. If she was going to insult him there was no reason for him to stay.

"Oh come off it, Malfoy. I only meant you look stressed." His surge of anger calmed slightly. "You want to talk about it?" 

He really didn't. Besides, what did she care? It was possible she had some sort of ulterior motive, yet he couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be. He sat up stiffly and crossed his arms.

"Guess not," she said, noting his posture. Evidently she was sharper than he would have given her credit. After a short pause, she began again. "Look, I just wanted you to know that I realize this must be hard for you. My year hasn't started off well and my father wasn't even a death eater. None of the girls I hung out with returned this year…" she trailed off. 

"I guess it's just you and me." Daphne smiled feebly. He found her sentiment oddly endearing in a terribly lonely sort of way. "I just wanted to let you know that if you want to talk, I'll be here." He met her gaze and saw a familiar pain reflected in the most honest set of blue eyes he had ever seen. She turned her attention back downwards to the book in her lap. 

He felt like he could trust her and not just because there wasn't anyone left for her to gossip to behind his back. In all his experiences with her, she had always seemed _different_ to him. Maybe that was the reason he hadn't given her much consideration in the past: because she was more decent than the likes of the rest of his gang. 

"I was worried about coming back. I didn't think anyone would be here. Glad I was wrong," Draco said with a weak smile. "At least something went right for me this year. Otherwise I wouldn’t have you. Though, I'd take you over Millicent any day." 

She looked back up at him and cracked a sideways smirk. "How _generous_ of you. But you can cut the sappiness. We are Slytherins after all. We have a reputation to uphold." 

He grinned right back at her. Then, as his smile faded, began more soberly, "If I'm entirely honest with you though, I didn't really want to see anybody from our house again. I don't know that I would have anything in common with them anymore," he finished glumly.

"I know what you mean. I always found the other Slytherin girls to be so desperate and petty. I mean, sure I spent some time with them, but what other options did I have really? Anyways…" She paused and heaved a sigh as she sat back. "You made head boy, huh?" She nodded to his pin.

"Yeah.…yeah… guess I did, didn't I," he said unenthusiastically. Honestly, he still didn't have a single clue how that was ever going to work out. 

"Not especially excited to work with Hermione Granger then?" 

"Hardly. She's a right pain in the ass. And such a perfect little know-it-all," he scoffed. Daphne raised an eyebrow at him. "McGonagall wants us to kiss and make up. Some nonsense about showing others that we can put the past behind us. It's all rubbish if you ask me."

"You don't have to do that you know."

"Do what?"

"Act like that. There's nobody here but us. And I for one don't give a damn about that pure blood nonsense. In fact, Granger is one of the biggest reasons why." She laughed. "That girl could charm the world to stop spinning."

"Well if you're such a big fan of her, why don't you take my spot as head boy?" he teased. 

"Well for one thing, I'm a bit gender challenged, really. And for another, I think that would defeat the point. McGonagall is right you know. This is the perfect way to show everyone that even worst enemies can resolve their issues if their hearts are in the right place."

"Sounds like you've been spending too much time with the Hufflepuffs. No," he shook his head adamantly, "I think McGonagall made a mistake. She's too busy trying to make everyone get along to realize that some things don't change. Granger and I can't be friends. There's too much history." 

But even as he said it, he didn't know if he really believed it. No matter how deeply he tried to bury them, his feelings for Hermione kept popping right back up. She wasn't, after all, the one he actually despised. Harry and Ron had done their fair share of throwing stabbing insults right back at him, but she never had. Of course, that didn't change the fact that she was still the most annoyingly perfect person he knew. What with her intelligence and her commanding attitude and the self-righteous expression she adapted when she knew she was right…

"Look, it's getting late. We can talk about this some other time." He stood up, banishing the brunette from his mind. Changing his tone, he then said sincerely, "But thanks Daphne. I'll keep your offer in mind if I ever need someone to talk to. Really, you've already made me feel loads better." 

She nodded with a knowing smile. "Anytime, Malfoy. We Slytherins… we've got to stick together." 

He exited the room with the ghost of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. It occurred to him how much time he had wasted in his years at Hogwarts. He'd been hanging out with the likes of Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle while Daphne was only a few feet away. But he had been a different person during those years. Back then, he would have scorned Daphne for the things she had just said. 

Though he was reluctant to admit it, he was starting to think that she was right. He had never been given evidence to suggest that his blood-status gave him any sort of edge. Quite the contrary, in fact, for he was eternally overshadowed by a girl who didn't have a single trace of magical blood. He realized bitterly that, if anything, his own blood status was an affliction: a disease that killed him slowly and drove decent people away from him. 

He entered his room and looked around.

Alone again. 

But as he dosed off to sleep that night, he didn't find himself missing his old roommates. He wasn't truly alone. He had Daphne, and that was more than he could have ever hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	9. H

Hermione woke the next morning with the scars of the night before glued to her face. Using a dampened handkerchief, she rubbed away the salty trails that marked her cheeks. She felt like a mess and highly suspected that she looked like one too. Her suspicions were confirmed moments later when she looked in the mirror and nearly jumped at the face that reflected back at her.

However, a quick brush of her hair and face wash later, she was encouraged to see that her visual appeal had been boosted from troll to goblin. 

_You've got to appreciate the little wins in life_ , she thought sarcastically.

It was at that moment that she remembered. Classes were starting in only a few hours. Her mood was suddenly lifted. Nothing excited Hermione Granger more than the prospect of learning. Needless to say, it put some purpose in her step as she walked down to breakfast with Ginny. 

As Hermione tucked into a soft-boiled egg, she reviewed her class schedule. Arithmancy was her first class that morning. _A perfect way to start the day_ , she thought, grinning. Defense Against the Dark arts was second, then lunch, followed by History of Magic. Her other days' schedule included Charms, Ancient Runes, Herbology, and Transfiguration followed by a free period before Potions. 

In the weeks to come she buried herself in her work. All thoughts of the head boy and the complications he provided were kept safely stowed behind lock and key. That rickety bridge would have to be crossed at a later date. Now was the time for her to focus on her schoolwork.

Though her classes were just as stimulating as she remembered them, she found them more lonely than she ever realized they could be. It was wonderful to have her attention free to listen to her professors for once without constantly having to speak with the boys, but still, she missed their companionship. Classes nowadays she spent sitting alone, paying little attention to the other students, simply listening and responding to her professor's instruction. 

Academically, she was doing quite well. She was keeping herself ahead by re-reading each of her textbooks at regular intervals. At the end of the year awaited her N.E.W.T.s tests, for which she wanted to be thoroughly prepared. Hours outside of class were spent doing homework and studying in the Library, though she spent a good amount of this time in the prefects' new study room. Hermione found it just slightly quieter than the Library outside and quite a bit cozier, not to mention the fact that it was usually deserted. It gave her a more private place to pour over her books than the common spaces available in the Library. 

In a charms class during her second week she succeeded in casting a complex silent attempt at both the destruction and repair charms, managing to explode and repair her glass vase before Flitwick had finished explaining the process to them. And then with McGonagall, she had successfully conjured an entire sheep on her second attempt after mistakenly conjuring only the left side of a sheep on her first try; though still succeeding long before the others of her class had managed to do so. Nearly half of the year's Arithmancy assignments had been turned in by the third week and she was continuing to put out nearly-perfect potions with each class period. 

As a hobby, she was also in the process of teaching herself wandless magic when she had time to spare outside of her classes. After a particularly disastrous first attempt at one of her best charms, she had since decided to go back to the basics and was now only attempting spells that she had been taught first year. So far, she had only been able to make a feather roll over once on her desk while attempting the levitation spell. It was tough work, but she was determined to master at least a few spells. She had checked out and read through all the books about wandless magic already and was referencing them regularly for assistance. 

The social sector of her life left a little more to be desired. Despite sharing the same house, she and Ginny were finding it particularly difficult to make time together, though they still sat together at lunches and kept each other updated about what was going on. The latter of the two was exceptionally busy balancing classes, quidditch, and her duties as a prefect. In their most recent conversation, Ginny had been complaining about how she had originally scheduled tryouts for Tuesday of the second week, but had unfortunately been forced to cancel them last minute due to a particularly nasty rain out and would now have to start off the season later than planned. 

Between Ron and Harry's absence and Ginny's busy schedule and popularity, it was not surprising that Hermione spent most of her time alone. Crookshanks would occasionally venture up between naps at his near-permanent residence in front of the Gryffindor fireplace, but for the most part slept the day away. He was beginning to show the signs of his age. Having already gotten him at the ripe old age of somewhere around seven years old, he was now close to twelve. Unless food was involved, he much preferred to spend his time taking naps, living out his days in the comfort of a cozy warm spot. 

Though Draco was in a few of her N.E.W.T.S classes, she didn't have direct contact with him again until the end of their second week back, an arrangement she had been perfectly fine with. McGonagall summoned them to her office on official head boy and girl duty. They were in charge of the arrangement of several new after-school activities groups. These included a group for flying-lovers, a class for wizards wishing to learn the art of magical food preparation, a group for students interested in taking jobs at the Ministry, a nature group that combined the interests of both plants and magical creatures, and a club for game-loving wizards. Hermione thought that they all sounded like delightful ideas. 

As head boy and head girl, McGonagall was making them responsible for tracking down and speaking with the students that had already been assigned to leadership positions in some of the groups. Each of these heads would need assistance scheduling times and areas to meet in and for making communication amongst their group's attendees easier. Hermione, having had good practice with that exact issue with the D.A. in fifth year, volunteered to organize a special medium of communication for each group. The headmistress also handed them stacks of informational fliers for each of the organizations and instructed them to post them in all the dormitories and in major rooms of the school. 

As they exited the headmistress' office clutching their papers, Hermione shot a glance at her fellow head boy. She had shoved all thoughts of him far back in her mind after her miserable start to the year and hadn't gone near them since. As much as she loved and respected McGonagall, she still wasn't ready to speak amicably and work with the boy beside her. But there was business to be done, so she tried her best to swallow her disdain. She would behave if he would. _Godric, like that'll ever happen_ , she thought bitterly. 

"So…" she started hesitantly. "I guess it would be beneficial to divide and conquer to get this done. Since the cooking class and the Ministry's new club are both run by adults that leaves us with three students to talk to. Do you want to talk to the heads of the flying group? I can track down the nature group and the game group's heads. We both have copies of the Hogwarts schedule of events, so we'll see any changes the other makes to it…" she trailed off. 

"Sure. I'll hang posters in the Slytherin and Ravenclaw common rooms and I'll go ahead and hang them in the major areas of the school too. I can also talk to the game group's head since you'll be busy organizing communications." Hermione was looking at him out the corner of her eye. For a second there it had sounded like he was trying to be considerate. He walked looking slightly down and away from her. Both his voice and expression were nondescript. She couldn't pin down any semblance of emotion. 

_I'll bet he's really seething on the inside_ , she thought callously. _What do his mummy and daddy think about him working with the likes of Hermione Granger? At least he seems to be taking it somewhat seriously. Maybe McGonagall's managed to talk a small bit of sense into that thick brain of his._

"All right. It's settled then. I think I'll call a prefects meeting for this weekend, so please make an effort to show up." Neither of them spoke again and soon they split from each other, heading their separate ways to complete their tasks.

Hermione had no trouble tracking down the nature group's head. Iris Findlay was a tall Hufflepuff fifth year with curly sandy-blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. Though she had a bubbly personality that Hermione suspected many would find difficult to stomach, Hermione found her delightful. The girl was very understanding with her and was more than happy to change the dates of her group's meeting to fit the schedule when her first choice slot coincided with another event. When they were through, the girl thanked her, gave her a hug, and excused herself to go meet with a friend in the Hufflepuff house common room. Hermione smirked uncontrollably. Iris was probably the most stereotypical Hufflepuff she'd ever met. 

Over the weekend, Hermione summoned the prefects, as intended, to a meeting in their study room in the library. It was a bit of a tight squeeze but as everyone arrived they managed a tight circle around the room, conjuring chairs as necessary. Though she did most of the talking, Draco wasn't completely useless. To her surprise, he seemed fairly alert and attentive throughout the meeting and even nodded to back her up a few times. 

She discussed the new changes McGonagall was in the process of enacting. It would be important during the first few weeks to have prefects on duty, at the very least, checking up on meetings where no professor or adult was present. Later, she also shared a curious bit of information she had learned from McGonagall earlier that week. She had remembered to ask the headmistress about the unusually high number of prefects. The answer had been a simple one. McGonagall had strongly suspected that more prefects would be beneficial with double amount of first year students running around the castle. Hermione agreed wholeheartedly. Even more so because, as it so happened, their first years were not only numerous, but rowdy too.

When their meeting came to a close, Draco offered to organize a schedule for the first two weeks of "guard duty" and set about recruiting available prefects to oversee the activities at the various groups' meetings. Hermione felt like someone had hit her with a confundus charm. Draco Malfoy was actually being somewhat helpful.

Maybe _he'd_ been hit with a confundus charm. 

She had definitely seen something in him since their meeting with McGonagall. She was reluctant to call that something change, since she was under the impression that those bearing the surname Malfoy were allergic to that sort of thing. But she hadn't the foggiest idea what to make of his behaviour since then when she entertained the prospect of any other option. 

Ginny might know what to make of it all. Ginny always seemed to have the answers. 

Hermione would have to find time to ask her later though, because her textbooks were calling her name again and she had a twelve parchment-lengths paper to prepare for Ancient runes. After that was finished, she would need to get started on a medium of communication for all after-school groups. Then finally, only when all her other duties were completed, could she try to find time to talk to her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and don't forget to comment!


	10. D

Draco was trying his best. Truly, he was. He had taken what McGonagall had said to heart. She had placed so much trust in him. He couldn't just throw the responsibility he'd been given out the window. She was counting on him and a nagging part of him told him that it was the right thing to do. 

He'd find a way to work with Granger, even if it killed him- which, if he was honest with himself, it might.

So try his best, he did. He helped best he could with managing the prefects, pulled his fair share of hall monitoring, and split the tasks given to them as close to fifty-fifty as possible. Each prefects meeting, he listened carefully in case he was needed for anything, though Hermione always seemed to have everything well under control. But even after a few weeks' practice, he had yet to become fully comfortable doing his job. The problem was, he was uncommonly worried about what everyone thought of him.

Though he had yet to catch anyone actually doing so, he constantly felt like everyone was staring daggers at him behind his back. His father had been a death eater, who was now imprisoned in Azkaban. Most people probably wouldn't have a have a hard time lumping them together. The thought of being compared to his father made him incredibly uneasy and so was the reason why he kept mostly to himself- a pariah, though not entirely by choice. He worried for the rare event that someone should confront him, accuse him of the deeds of his tainted past. What proof would he have to fight them with? His robes concealed his own painful reminder of the choices he couldn't change: the dark mark.

Amongst the shadows, however, he had his ray of hope. One thing had gone right so far, and that thing was Daphne. She would sit with him at lunches when he otherwise would have sat awkwardly and alone off to the side. While he was content simply with her companionship, there was absolutely no denying that she was a peculiarly interesting individual. She was highly opinionated and very vocal about the things she was passionate about. Their most recent lunch "conversation" had consisted entirely of Daphne ranting about how messed up she thought the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s system was. 

"You base your entire future on two sets of standardized tests! How does that seem right?"

Surprisingly, he found that he didn't much mind her bluntness. He had been around highly outspoken, obstinate people his entire life, but Daphne liked to speak almost exclusively about her most unpopular opinions. He found it quite fascinating, even if he didn’t agree with everything she said. 

Beyond his meager social life, he worked hard in his classes knowing full well that N.E.W.T.s were coming and that they would spring on him if he weren't prepared, though he found his heart wasn't in it quite like it had been in years gone by. Perhaps it was the absence of his father's constant pressure or even possibly the fading of his own desire to outperform all competition. Either way, it didn't matter; it was a losing battle. Even without the emotional baggage and social pressure he was currently managing, he had never beaten Hermione. 

After six years, as much as he hated to admit it, she had the lock down on smartest student. But that wasn't going to stop him from focusing on his work and doing his best. He was still determined not to let a silly thing like emotion get in the way of earning top marks, cut below Granger or not.

One sunny afternoon, he had wandered down to the quidditch pitch to watch a Slytherin practice session. Surprisingly, he was finding that he missed it less than he would have expected. He certainly didn't envy the Slytherin's team captain as he sat watching her direct a whole new team of fliers around the field, trying, seemingly hopelessly, to minimalize collisions and maximize synchronicity. Though as he watched the players zoom about on their brooms, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. 

Along with his Hogwarts letter delivered earlier that summer, he had received notice that, as head of Slytherin house, Slughorn had appointed him as quidditch captain for the year. Even then he hadn't been very excited at the prospect and had written back promptly asking for new arrangements to be made. He certainly didn't regret that decision now. It would have been far too stressful for him to handle everything he had on his plate currently _and_ organize quidditch practices and attend games. Inevitably though, he missed the thrill of flying. 

With the crazy schedule of a typical seventh year student, he had found himself fortunate enough to stumble upon a rare spot of seclusion, beyond the confines of his room, that, as far as he was aware, was all his own. He had discovered the small clearing on a hill overlooking the lake while exploring the grounds idly, looking for an excuse to be alone. He had been charmed by its comfortable and peaceful atmosphere automatically. It was a flat grassy patch on a slight precipice some thirty feet above the lake. A dense collection of trees behind it camouflaged it just enough to be difficult to find. From it, he had a beautiful view of the mountainous backdrop behind the lake and, if he stayed long enough, he would often be rewarded with brilliant sunsets. 

He sought it out on afternoons or during his free periods as a peaceful place to sit and clear his head. The fresh air did his overworked brain a world of good.

On a particularly crisp afternoon, he sat gazing out over the water and found himself thinking about his fellow head girl.

It was still very early in school year, but things were already loads better than he had originally thought they'd be. Hermione was a good fit for her job, McGonagall had not been wrong in that regard. All the prefects seemed to find her quite manageable. He was the one who wasn't supposed to like her. And yet, he found that his hatred of her was quite the opposite of how it used to be, now toned down, the reasons behind it turning ever more murky by the day. She wasn't the same girl from their early years. The girl he remembered had been dominating and boisterous. A teacher's pet who's only true intelligence stemmed from her ability to photographically memorize large swaths of textbook information.

The Hermione he saw now was none of those things. She was commanding without being bossy, polite to those around her, always taking into account what others had to say, and worked twice as hard as anybody else.

When he thought about it, he'd never hated her for anything she'd done purposely. She had never been rude to him in all their years at Hogwarts. In fact, the most insulting thing she'd done was hang out with the likes of Potter and his clingy keychain-of-a-sidekick Weaselbee. Jealousy of her had spurred him on more than anything. No matter what sorts of poisons he shot at her, he would see her laughing happily the next day with her friends. No matter how hard he tried, she was always a step ahead. He treated her the way he had because he'd been told to. "Because they're not like us," his father had hissed. 

What real reason did Draco have to hate her anymore?

The truth was simple: none. The things Daphne said had really affected him. And yet, it was a realization he'd been struggling to come to terms with for quite some time. The obsession with blood; how it had different qualities, how someone else's blood could be dirty or tainted- it all sounded so ludicrous when it wasn't being shoved in his ears every breathing minute. By now he was convinced that if there ever was anyone with dirtied blood, it was him, having done so many terrible things. It hurt him, to know that he had been so certain; that he had put so much trust in an idea without stopping to actually think about it. It wasn't her he hated, but himself. 

He knew words hurt, which is why he had employed them as his most skillful weapon, one that was physically imperceptible, yet inexpensive and easy to use. Emotional pain wasn't like other types of destruction. It couldn't be fixed with a bandage or a mending spell. It could be eased, but wouldn't disappear quickly. Unfortunately for him, he, the inflictor, had remained blissfully oblivious to how deeply he cut, leaving his scars far below the surface. 

Draco balled his fist and punched the ground, his face distorting with frustration. He'd hurt her, in good conscience and regularly, for years. He had looked her in the eyes and deliberately tried to cause as much damage as possible. Thinking back to the night in Malfoy manner, her screams materialized in his mind instantly, causing him to wince. What a coward he had been. 

He was ashamed of how his former self had behaved, but he was at a loss as to how he could communicate that to her. How was he supposed to make up for years of damage? Even he couldn't fully understand his change of character, how could he expect her to? How could he expect anyone to? And now that he was in a place where he felt like he could start taking his stubborn, parasitic feelings for her seriously, it was far too late. The damage had already been done. Once they were spoken, words couldn't be undone with other words; it just wasn't that simple. 

Young, reckless Draco Malfoy had been careless and destructive and he was just now beginning to pay dearly for it.


	11. H

Hermione and Ginny were sitting at the Gryffindor table during lunch a few days after their most recent prefects' meeting when Hermione finally found the opportunity to discuss the issue.

"Ginny, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," said Ginny, in the milliseconds she was gracious enough to spare before inhaling a nearby muffin.

"Well…" Hermione, hesitated. "I was wondering if you had noticed anything different about Draco Malfoy?"

"You mean like, how he's not on the Slytherin quidditch team anymore? Guess they finally realized he was a rubbish seeker. Ha! Or, perhaps, are you referring to how his self-righteous smile has turned permanently upside down? I reckon it's because he hasn't got any of mates left to stroke his abnormally large ego." Ginny chuckled proudly at herself. 

Under normal circumstance, Hermione would have been greatly humored by this comment. But what Ginny had just pointed out as a joke only made her feel even more uneasy. Draco wasn't on the quidditch team this year? Somehow this tidbit had gone under her radar. It made sense though. As head boy, he wouldn't necessarily have time for such extracurricular activities. Nonetheless, she was still puzzled. She had always had the impression that he'd been rather attached to the sport. She frowned. "No I meant, do you think he's, er, rather more… mundane this year?" 

Hermione took a swig of tea as Ginny paused the annihilation of her ham sandwich to consider. "Can't say I've noticed as much. Though, he's never really had much to say to me at all, good or bad. I count myself rather lucky for that actually. But, I don't know, if he is, I wouldn't look into it too much. Mum always said it was a bad idea to look a gift horse in the mouth," Ginny stated matter-of-factly. After another great bite of her sandwich she said ponderously, "Though, now that you mention it, he was uncharacteristically decent at our meeting the other day." 

"Yeah," said Hermione. She furrowed her brows. "He and I have been working together as head boy and girl, and it just seems like he's being a lot better about it than I thought he would."

"Maybe the war has gone and given him a good sobering up. 'Bout time too."

Hermione pondered this for a moment. There was certainly some merit to that possibility. Now that she thought about it, he was the only seventh year Slytherin boy to return for another year. That had to mean something… 

"Well thanks Ginny. I'm going to head up to the Library for a while, so I'll see you around." Ginny smiled and nodded as her cheeks bulged with potato salad. Hermione's mood lifted at the sight of her chipmunk-faced friend and she actually managed a smile. A sudden pang throbbed in her chest as the image reminded her of Ron. She hadn't seen or heard from him since the day she had left for Hogwarts.

When she arrived in the Library, she made her way to the special prefects' study room and pulled out a bit of parchment. She would write him immediately. Perhaps he could even give her some advice.

 

Dear Ron, 

How are things at the ministry? Are you and Harry taking care of  
yourselves alright? It's been fairly lonely without the two of you here.  
I miss your companionship. But I'm getting along, and I still have Ginny  
to keep me company. 

Since I haven't written you, I supposed you haven't yet heard who my  
fellow head boy is this year. You wouldn't believe it, but it's Draco  
Malfoy. McGonagall chose the both of us to promote some sort of  
sense of unity or something. She's hoping that we'll be able to  
show others how to turn a new leaf.

It hasn't been as awful as I thought. He hasn't really said much to me  
in general, and he has yet to do anything particularly insulting.  
Very peculiar. Please do write, to tell me how you're doing, and let  
me know what you think about this odd turn of events.

Missing you dearly,  
Hermione

 

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the arched ceiling high above her. It was still September. The next opportunity she would have to see him would be at Christmas break. She groaned at the thought. That was nearly three months away. 

She managed to send the letter that afternoon during her free period after Transfigurations class. But when a week passed with no reply, she was growing increasingly worried that she had picked the wrong owl and somehow her note had been misplaced. 

To her absolute delight, something much better than a letter was delivered. Ron surprised her in the Library early on a Sunday morning. She recognized the fiery red hair instantly as it rounded a bookshelf nearby. Immediately, she jumped up and threw herself upon him, catching his lips with hers. Oh, how she'd missed him! They broke apart, giggling and blushing wildly, both beaming. 

Ron, predictably, made a fuss when Hermione suggested they simply sit and chat in the Library, claiming that he'd spent enough time around "those dusty old books" in the years he'd attended prior and insisted they go elsewhere. So, they took off to walk hand in hand around the ground outside of Hogwarts. 

"When I got your letter, I just knew I had to come visit you. I had imagined you exactly the same way I found you, actually. Surrounded by books, not talking to anyone. I couldn't bear the thought of you all alone here with a bunch of old books as company." She couldn't help but laugh. 

"Oh Ron, you make it sound so dreadful. I love books, remember? Or has it been too long?"

"Well it's definitely been too long. I missed you something awful 'Mione." He gave her hand a slight squeeze as his eyes found hers.

"And I you. But I've been alright, really. I imagine Ginny's been writing every now and then?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that. At least, she hasn't been writing to me. Harry gets a letter every now and then, but I reckon he's still a bit uncomfortable around me with the subject so I haven't heard much. I expect she's pretty busy though?"

"Pretty busy might even be an understatement. Nearly had to build a completely new team this year, didn't she? I sat in on one of their practices and she's really doing a good job of whipping the team into shape. She's taking it very seriously. All of her excess time is dedicated to it, so I don't get to see her as much as I'd like, but we sit together every day at lunch and we hang out with each other in the Gryffindor common room every now and then."

"That's what Harry and I miss the most." His tone was wistful. "Being in Gryffindor house. Not enough to wish we'd come back to school this year, mind you. We really are so happy at the aurors office."

"No I get it," she said with a smile. She knew would miss it dearly too. Luckily, her time as a Gryffindor alumni was still quite a ways off, but she knew when the spring semester rolled around she'd be trying hard not to bawl her eyes out every day. It would be a bittersweet ending to, arguably, the best chapter of her life.

"But you and Harry are doing all right? And Kreacher? You haven't missed any meals have you?"

"Not one," said Ron, patting his stomach lovingly. Hermione giggled, then stopped to look at him. A questioning look crossed his face.

"God, I've missed you so much," she breathed. He pulled her in for a sturdy embrace. They stood, wrapped contentedly together in the cool autumn air for what seemed like hours. When they released each other to continue walking, it still didn't seem long enough.

"How did you get here, by the way? Certainly not by train?" she asked him as they sat down on a couple of rocks near the lake. He shook his head.

"Apparated to Hogsmeade. Had to tell McGonagall I was coming though. She was cool about it. Hey, that reminds me, how are things as head girl? You mentioned Malfoy in your letter. He isn't really head boy is he? You're just trying to pull one over on me."

She shook her head, her mouth set grimly. "I'm afraid not." He looked at her incredulously.

"What in Merlin's name was McGonagall thinking? Malfoy? For God's sakes, you'd think there'd be someone in the bloody school better suited for the job than him."

"I don’t know… It's strange. He really hasn't been all that bad this year. He seems… _different_ ," she handled the last word delicately. "We had an argument first week, about the whole head boy head girl thing, but then we talked to McGonagall about it and he hasn't done anything since. Come to think of it, I don't think he's said one rotten thing yet this year." That was what bothered her the most. If there was one thing Draco Malfoy was bad at, it was keeping his fat mouth shut. It was very unusual that he would have remained so quiet for so long. 

Ron scoffed. "Reckon he's planning something then- the snake. Better keep your guard up 'Mione. He's a dangerous bloke. Really rotten luck that you're stuck working with him for the year. You're sure McGonagall won't do anything about it?"

"Nope, already tried." She shrugged.

He scowled. "Well, like I said then, best keep your guard up. Who knows what's going on in that twisted mind of his."

She was silent for the remainder of their walk back to Hogwarts, lost in thought. When they came upon the front doors of the school, Ron confessed that he had to be off because he'd promised he'd be back by dinner to listen to a quidditch game with Harry. Immediately, she regretted letting herself get strung along by the current of her thoughts. He appeared not to be put off by this, however, and drew her in for a firm hug. With a gentle kiss placed on her forehead as his final farewell, he took off down the path towards Hogsmeade. She stayed the small puddles of water gathering beneath her eyes as she watched him go, then turned to make her way up to the Gryffindor common room.

Ginny, Seamus, Dean and some other Gryffindors were sitting near the fireplace talking and laughing. But as much as she wanted to sit and talk, her head was starting to ache from all the grinding gears. So, with a regretful glance over her shoulder, she wandered over to the staircase and made her way up to her room. 

Hermione lay on her bed for a while trying to coax her thoughts to be silent. By dinner time, some of the pain had subsided so she made her way down with the rest of her dorm to the Great hall. Though the food looked just as good as usual, the unease in her stomach seemed to have leeched her appetite. She grabbed a meager dinner consisting of slice of bread and an apple and excused herself back up to her room. 

Later that night, she lay staring up at the ceiling again. Now she was worried. What if Ron was right? What if Draco was planning something? Something devious or even dangerous? She wouldn't put it past Malfoy to swallow his cockiness if it would somehow benefit him later on. She needed to figure out what to do with him, and quickly.

The answer came swirling through her thoughts as the heaviness of sleep weighed on her eyelids. Like it or not, she would have to confront him.

She found her opportunity on a quiet afternoon. She was out in the library, referencing a text for an herbology paper, when she saw him pass by. His voice sounded the prefects' password and she heard him enter the study room. Just the opportunity she was hoping for. No one but her had been in the room all day, so she knew it was just the two of them. She marked her place in her book and mentally prepared herself as she stood outside. With a nervous glance at the rearing unicorn bookend on the middle shelf, she spoke the words "jelly roll." The unicorn gave a faint whinny, acknowledging that the correct password had been given, and the bookshelf began sliding away. 

No turning back now. 

He glanced up at her as she entered but immediately turned back to look at his work. She walked a few steps closer but froze, shaking slightly, as the bookshelf slid back into place. _Just be firm with him_ , she encouraged herself. She cleared her throat and he looked over at her again.

"I need to speak with you," she said, trying to steady her voice as she balled up her fists. His expression was that of expectance and something else she couldn't read. "Well, actually, I'm going to talk and you're going to listen, so listen well. I don't know what you're up to, but I do know this: it can't be good. I see you, trying to be all helpful and put on a good show for McGonagall. Well, she may trust you, but I most certainly do not. So you'd better watch your back, because I'm onto you. You try _anything_ , and I'll hex you within an inch of your life." She finished, tone threatening and poised with her eyes daring and her head held high. Before turning to leave, she topped it all off with as menacing a glare as she could muster. 

But as she was walking away, still attempting to calm her breathing, his voice came from behind her just as she arrived at the door. 

"Wait, Granger." 

She froze as icy fingers crawled up her back, setting her nerves even further on edge. Expecting the worst, she steeled herself but did not turn around.

"I'm sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOH CLIFFHANGERS. Gosh, I've edited this chapter a LOT and I hope its good enough at this point. 
> 
> I'd like to apologize in advance in case I don't manage to post next week. It's my finals week, and while I'd much rather be writing, I really should be studying and focusing on them. So, I'll certainly try to get one up, but I can't make any promises at this point. [it should be noted that I didn't plan the cliffhanger to coincide with a potentially longer period between updates, we all just got very lucky ;) ]
> 
> Otherwise, thank you to all of your beautiful faces for continuing to read. And to all of you lovelies that continue to comment, THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. I check everyday for new ones just to see what you have to say. Every little thought and encouragement counts tenfold for me!


	12. H

"What?" she remarked, incredulously. Both Hermione's voice and body were now noticeably shaky. Were her ears working correctly or had the s-word actually come out of Malfoy's mouth? She heard the scrape of his chair behind her as he stood. But she remained facing away from him, still filled with unease, poised to dart out the door at the first sign of danger. It was a few moments before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry you think I'd do something like that." Anger like searing heat flared within her. He was sorry she thought he was a scheming little rodent? When he had given her every reason to think he was exactly that way? She was about to lash out when he spoke again. "Can you just, give me a chance to explain?"

She scoffed. Honestly, what sort of game was he playing at? Was whatever plan he had really so important that he would stoop so low simply to assuage her conscience? 

Cautiously, she turned back around to look at him, but her gaze fell upon a Draco Malfoy she did not recognize. Gone was his air of superiority. Shoulders hunched and head held low, she was shocked to see what looked like pain reflecting out of glassy grey eyes. 

"Please. Will you just…" he paused and closed his eyes, as if to collect himself. "…hear me out?" He motioned to a chair nearby. With great reluctance, she pulled it over and positioned it several comfortable feet away from him. He sat back down, facing her. He drew a short breath and ran a quick hand through his hair, giving it the rare appearance of unruliness, and dropped his gaze.

"I don't even know where to begin." 

She sat begrudgingly with her arms crossed and waited for him to speak again, in the meantime hoping that he would give her a good excuse to flee the room. Her heart beat was racing and she felt as though she were sitting on a balloon that would burst any moment. 

"These past few years… have been… _difficult_ to say the least. I don't pretend that I've had it all that bad. At least, not when I compare it to what families like the Weasleys have gone through. But I had this idea of what would happen if you-know-who ever returned. He had everything that I wanted- thought I wanted, at least- the power, the respect, the glory…" His eyes darted quickly up to hers and back down again. "It was fun in the beginning- pushing people around, feeling superior, but then the floor just dropped out from underneath me.

"Suddenly power wasn't enough. We were torturing and controlling-" his voice dropped to just above a whisper. "We we're killing people. And I couldn't push myself that far. Everything just became so real for me. One day I turned around and it was like all the light in my life had been snuffed out. I looked around and things were different. My family wasn't who I thought they were. My house wasn't a home anymore. I was living with a monster and surrounded by murders. I felt trapped and alone and… scared. 

"And then somehow it got worse. Suddenly I was expected to kill. And if I didn't, then those I loved would die instead." She heard his voice catch in his throat, saw the glassy surface of his eyes tremble. The unmistakable signs of candor were written all across him. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I just stood there in front of Dumbledore, collapsing in on myself, hoping against all hope that everything would just be done. And then Snape killed him and I watched as he dropped-" His voice broke and he hastily ran a sleeve up to his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Anyways, I find very little comfort in the fact that I haven't killed anyone. But that hasn't stopped me from doing innumerous other horrid things." The silver flecks in his eyes flashed as he looked up, catching her eyes forcefully with his. "I know that it's far too late for this. I know it and yet I need to tell you because I've done so much that I'm not proud of, but none of it compares to the inexcusable way I've treated you." 

A stray tear rolled down her cheek. Stabbing pain cut into her forearm as the ghost of a bygone word exploded like a gunshot in her mind. " _Mudblood_." The word generated electric shockwaves of hurt to echoed endlessly through the cavern of her mind, though she did not let this pain show upon her face. She choked her shame down and hardened her features, trying desperately to keep her emotions from betraying her. 

"I'm beyond ashamed. And I know that it's not good enough, but I am so sorry." 

Another tear. Her heartbeat, now resolving to pump waves of agony through her veins while anger swelled within her. And now she was shouting all the things she'd ever wanted to tell him silently in her mind. How could he presume that she would ever accept his apology? After the hell he'd put her through? 

She looked at the boy in front of her. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to feel violent and dangerous and powerful. She wanted to feel like she could hurt him just like he had hurt her all those many years.

But she couldn't. The malice wouldn't come. There was sincerity and ache in his eyes that told her he was already damaged. Just like her. Just like everyone else who had loved and lost to the war. She swore she could hear a snap as her heart broke and her tears broke away from her control. She looked away. 

"I can't do this. Not with you." She was stumbling out of the room. "It's too late." 

She tore away from him, from that room, from that word, hysteria climbing its way up her throat, and didn't look back. Not when she darted past a worried-looking Ginny. Not when she missed a step on the grand staircase and collided with the floor. Not when the edge of the forest had swallowed her whole. She ran until the breath in her lungs was afire and her legs felt as if they might fold out from underneath her. 

Then, allowing the bruising pressure of the built-up anguish and frustration to finally escape, she threw herself down on the cold leaf-littered floor and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is probably too dramatic, but ya know what, that's okay. We could all use more drama and angst in our daily lives right? Sure. 
> 
> Also, I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news: It's a double upload day! Because I have difficulty making chapters long enough! WOOOHOO! (Though actually, this was intentional. It's a good place to draw the POV alternation line. Bad news at the end of the next chapter.)


	13. D

She wasn't talking to him or acknowledging him and frankly, he couldn't blame her in the slightest. Hell, he wouldn't talk to himself either if he had the mercy of choice. He would have loved to escape his own body and the trauma that sought to terrorize his mind in the hours after Hermione had left him.

For a fleeting moment he'd felt free. She had heard what he had to say, knew what he had wanted to tell her. But then she had gone, leaving him numb and his sense of freedom had dematerialized into void. 

Soon, the hole inside him had returned, stealing the life away from him one breath at a time. Everything seemed so meaningless. The weight of what he had done came crashing down upon him harder than he would have ever expected. He finally realized that there were truly things that he couldn't reverse: deep wounds that he couldn't heal, biting words that he couldn't take back, and broken hearts that he couldn't piece together again. 

As he had watched her go, he sat trying desperately to pull her back in with his eyes. "It's too late," she'd said. He had known this, and yet, as the words left her mouth in confirmation, it still stole the air from his lungs. Complete and utter rejection crashed down on him. 

He spent as little time as possible away from his room. He didn't feel much like talking, so Daphne had completely free range over conversation at lunchtime as, day after day, he distracted himself by pushing food around on his plate. He threw himself into his work and tried to concentrate as dark thoughts raged in his mind. This wasn't his first experience with rejection, but it was, decidedly, his worst. 

On a particularly bad day, Draco was sitting, eyes closed with his back up against a tree, having taken refuge from the castle's suppressive walls in his secluded spot by the lake, when he heard someone come up from behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed Daphne, who was trudging resolutely through the trees towards him. Without looking at him or making any comment to acknowledge his presence, she gingerly sat down beside him. Lacking the capacity to fully appreciate her company, he turned his attention back to the lake.

"Very nice, this," she said, looking about at the view. He said nothing. "Not intruding am I?" Though he debated this, he eventually shook his head. She looked at him, eyes narrowed as if giving him an inspection, and puzzled. After a few moments she inquired, "Girl troubles?"

His heart skipped a beat and he shot a worried glance in her direction. "How'd you know?" 

She smirked. "I didn't. I just made an educated guess and I happened to be right. My second guess would have been daddy issues, if it makes you feel any better." Strangely, it didn't. He grunted and looked away again. Then, in a thoroughly loathsome display of dramatic flair and obvious feigned innocence, she gasped, "Don't tell me, it's not Granger?" 

How, for the love of sweet Salazar, did she know that?

"Look," he said curtly. "If you're here to judge me, you can just leave." Then, reconsidering this and shifting as if to get up, he offered, "Or if you won't, I will."

"Woah now, no need to get all touchy. I swear I’m not here to judge you. I told you, first week. I'm here for you if you need to talk. So… here I am." She flashed a gentle, reassuring smile. Draco's scowl eased slightly. 

"Speaking of here, how'd you even find me?"

"Followed you of course. I've been worried about you. You've hardly spoken a word in nearly two weeks and you didn't even smirk when Filch stepped on the tail of that wretched cat of his. I knew something was up and I wanted a chance for us to talk, so I followed you here." Her voice dropped to a whisper and with a wink she added, "Don't worry, your secret spot is safe with me." 

The tension in his body began to subside. Daphne wasn't the type of person he could stay mad at easily. Yet worry still hung forebodingly in the back of his mind. His next question was formed with caution, though not because he feared asking it. Rather, he feared the answer.

"How'd you know it was Granger?"

"Please," she scoffed. "There's no need to insult my intelligence. As someone who nearly has a degree in both Slytherin and teenage boy psychology, it wasn't too difficult to figure out why you would always spend so much of your energy and attention on her. Not to mention you'd have to be gay, dead, or both not to find that girl attractive."

"That obvious, huh?" Draco paused and sighed heavily. "Well, secret out or not, it really doesn't matter how I feel about her. The past is the past and I can't take back all the things I've done." He picked up a stone and threw it out over the lake, watching it fly until it hit the water with a splash.

"What happened?" 

He said nothing for a while, but eventually relented and told her what had happened during their last train wreck-of-a conversation.

"…then she said it was too late and went running out. That was nearly two weeks ago," he finished. "She's completely right. I can't change the past. I can't expect her to forgive me. How can I when I can't even forgive myself?" Daphne furrowed her brows, pondering over the things he had just told her. 

"And you said McGonagall wouldn't replace you as head boy?" 

He shook his head. "Which means that we're both stuck together. God, if I knew apologizing would make it worse I would've kept my fat mouth shut. But no, I thought that I would try to do the right thing for once in my sorry life! And where did it get me?!" He sighed. "I wouldn't know what the right thing to do was if it bit me on the arse."

"Well, I won't argue with that," Daphne said, conveniently ignoring the glare he then shot at her. "But I don't think you did the wrong thing. Nor do I think this is any reason to have another crack at getting replaced. Sure she's mad at you. Honestly though, what's new? Now, even as a girl I'm no expert on the female brain, and certainly not one so complex as Hermione Granger's. But given what you've just told me and with some prior knowledge to how your relationship has functioned, I would say that she was probably just upset to see you expressing remorse. It's a lot easier to hate someone when you don't think they care. 

"I would imagine that she probably hoped you'd apologize for humiliating her, but never in her wildest dreams actually expected it to happen. I think, if you give her some time, she'll come around. There's no doubt in my mind that you've changed Draco. And I think that once she comes to the same realization, things will start to get better. Not to mention, the girl has a work-ethic like nothing I've ever seen. She won't let something like this get between you if it means letting down McGonagall. She's not going to shirk responsibility for any reason."

"But I really hurt her Daphne," Draco said, unsuccessfully masking the pain in his voice.

"I never said you didn't. Look, I'm just speculating here. But I wouldn't try to build up your hopes if I didn't genuinely think that this would all blow over. I think that she'll be able to see past what you've done. She's not some lovey-dovey Hufflepuff, so she won't just forgive you without a shadow of a doubt. She's a stubborn, proud Gryffindor for crying out loud. Even if she does get over it, she's not going to suddenly ask you to afternoon tea and send you handwritten notes. It'll take a long time to convince her. But I think you're up for it Draco. I really do."

She looked at him with confidence. "It's never too late to do the right thing. I think that's something we all need to realize."

He huffed and ran a hand through his hair. Though his doubts had not been entirely allayed, what Daphne was saying was giving him some semblance of comfort. He glanced over and saw caring blue eyes looking back at him. A smile escaped him. 

"You're a rubbish Slytherin, you know that?" 

"There's the Draco we all know and love." She smiled as the two of them got up to walk back to the castle. 

"You don't make a half-bad Hufflepuff yourself, Malfoy."

When they arrived back at Hogwarts it was nearly dinner time so they waited at Slytherin table as students trickled in through the doors. Draco had a good view of the entrance from where he was sitting and watched it discreetly as Daphne, growing increasingly more hungry and irritated, launched into a rant about underage magic restrictions. 

The tables filled with food and the flow of students slowed and stopped, but Hermione was nowhere to be found. He gave up trying and attempted to scrounge up interest in the ham on his plate. He took a small bite and chewed at it as an excuse for something to do. Nearly half an hour later, Daphne finished her rant with a passionate swig of cider and excused herself to go study for their potions test. 

He had forgotten all about the potions test. Grumbling to himself, he gave a last sideways glance at his food and got up to leave. As he reached the door, he was forced up against the doorframe when the red-headed triplets from Hufflepuff rushed past him, nearly trampling him in their hurry. He heard them snickering as they rounded the corner and noted their bulging pockets. _Merlin_ , he thought to himself. _They're nothing but trouble_. 

It occurred to him just slightly too late that, as head boy, he should probably have called them back and had them turn out their pockets. Though even if he had realized in time, he wasn't particularly in the mood. They were probably just smuggling out sweets anyways.

He turned back to survey the great hall one last time but caught no glimpse of the brown curls he searched for. Turning to leave, he collided with another body. He stumbled and fell back, meeting the cold stone floor with a solid thud. He cursed under his breath and readied a 20 point deduction to whatever house the unlucky student belonged to. 

Just as he was about to speak, a glance upwards left him shocked when his gaze was met with a pair of chocolate brown eyes framed beneath the exact curls he had been searching for not moments ago. His anger vanished instantly, replaced immediately by gut-wrenching anxiety. 

Her emotions were unreadable as she watched him stand and brush himself off. He was unsure what to do. He felt the urge to apologize, run, ask if she was okay, and assume the fetal position all at once. Finally, he stuttered a feeble "S-sorry." He was about to turn to leave when she broke her silence. 

"If you're up for it, I'd like to have a word with you." Her voice was low and cautious. "Preferably somewhere more private." She glanced around the entrance hall. He nodded and followed her when she turned and walked off. 

He trailed behind her silently as they ascended staircase after staircase and wound their way through empty castle corridors. She stopped when they reached an open but secluded portion of corridor not far from the observatory. She took a seat on a windowsill overlooking the lake which glistened mysteriously in the moonlight far below. 

After several long moments of tense silence- in which Draco shifted awkwardly and hoped that he looked more dignified than he felt- she turned to eye him with displeasure.

"I've decided to accept your apology."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't guessed by now, the bad news is that I'm leaving you hanging again. Sorry not sorry for cliffhangers.  
> (^ D ^) Love you guys and the feedback!


	14. H

Hermione had given her decision a lot of thought during the past two weeks. Initially, his apology had thoroughly both shocked and outraged her. The amount of nerve he had to ask her for forgiveness. It wasn't a simple affair to patch up years of emotional abuse. A few kind words and an apology just wouldn't cut it. 

Besides that, she was still trying to figure out whether she'd dreamt the whole thing. Out of sheer disbelief, she would have hexed the person who told her Draco Malfoy, pride of the pureblood elite, would ever apologize to her. That or at least laugh the incredibly absurd notion out of existence. They were enemies. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Pure blood and muggle-born. That's the way it was and always had been. 

Once she'd sorted that the event had, in fact, _actually_ , happened, she went straight into denial. _He couldn't possibly have meant it_ , she tried to convince herself. But what he had said and the look in his eyes had felt genuine. He'd looked as remorseful as he sounded. 

Still, sorry or not, he couldn't possibly know what it was like to grow up in her shoes. She worked hard to prove to everyone, especially herself, that she was good enough no matter who her parents were. And though most people really didn't care where she came from, those that did cared far too much. 

She went over Draco's words over and over again in her head. He had told her that he'd changed. Of all the things she had to consider, strangely, that was the most plausible. The rise of the dark lord had changed everything. Voldemort had been feared by those that supported and opposed him alike. Draco had even mentioned that the monster himself had been living at Malfoy Manor. Hermione couldn't even begin to imagine how horrific that must have been. But even with Voldemort gone and the war over, she strongly suspected that things had been far from easy for him. 

For one thing, Lucius Malfoy had gone to Azkaban following Voldemort's defeat. She had met Lucius, in Flourish and Blotts that one time before second year. If there was anyone who was more abominable than Draco himself it was his father. She thought back to that day she'd first met him in the bookshop. For a moment she had almost felt sorry for Draco. Draco's father was heinous enough to make him look like a saint. Still, she had no idea what sort of repercussions his imprisonment had instantiated within Draco's home life. And what if Draco _was_ happy to be rid of his father?

In the early years, her sympathy towards the bullying boy had been short-lived. Even on that day back in Flourish and Blotts, her acute feeling of pity had vanished almost instantly when, only seconds into the conversation, the word _mudblood_ had rolled off the tip of the younger Malfoy's tongue, as if he were contractually obligated to say it a certain number of times per hour. He didn't need or want her pity. Not when he was putting so much effort into growing into his father's shoes. 

But now, the more she thought, the more traces of sympathy seemed to be slowly coming back to her. Hermione vividly remembered her night at Malfoy Manor. The place had already been horrible even before she'd endured such awful things there. The place exuded an air of melancholy all the way from its dark marble floors to its towering ceilings. It felt much less like a home and much more like a prison. An empty one that used lavish decorations and raw pretentiousness as a façade. Not unlike the impression Malfoy senior had given her during their brief meeting. 

It couldn't have been very nice to grow up in a place like Malfoy Manor or with father like Lucius Malfoy. She imagined a young Draco receiving a punishment for running about and breaking something expensive. If Lucius was as oppressive with his son as he was with others, then Draco had at least one good reason to be so foul. She knew that he been reared to look down upon others just as strongly as she had been taught not to. It was all part of the Slytherin pure-blood mania. And while it by no means excused his behavior, it did certainly account for it. 

Despite how much she wanted to disbelieve him, she was convinced in spite of herself. And when the realization struck deep, that he was, in fact, genuinely issuing an apology for his actions, she felt ashamed. It would be hypocritical of her to refuse his apology when she had secretly yearned for one so long. She realized, however despondently, that she would have to set things straight. 

So there they stood. 

"I've decided to accept your apology."

In her tone lay the hidden insinuation _now don't make me regret it_. His facial expression contorted with an initial wave of shock. She crossed her arms over her chest. 

"I gave what you said a lot of thought, Malfoy. It seemed apparent to me that you'd changed this year, though I couldn't pinpoint in what way exactly. It occurred to me that you could be plotting revenge or some other nefarious deed. I was wrong to assume so, but you'll have to excuse me if I don't apologize. Your track record gave me no reason to consider otherwise." 

She felt the coolness of her own voice and was suddenly flooded with a sensation of regret. It was all wrong. He had been honest and vulnerable with her. And what did she give him in return? She was being downright accusatory and unfair. They had both gone through hell in the past few years. 

She drew a deep breath and felt some of the tension leave her body. 

Her voice came out more gently when she spoke next. "What I'm trying to say is, I appreciate what you did. It seems you've taken McGonagall more seriously than I have. I was so focused on disliking you I couldn't accept that you had actually given me a genuine apology and I'm sorry." She paused to gather her thoughts. He stood silently. 

"I think she's right, McGonagall. We can’t do what we were supposed to this year until we put our differences aside. I don't think I could have done it on my own. You did what I couldn't, and for that I'm grateful." 

She managed a weak smile. His stormy grey eyes flicked up and met with hers. 

"I truly am sorry," he said finally, his eyes trained steadily on hers. "You were right to be suspicious. I've been nothing but wretched to you for so long. But I'm ready to spend the rest of the year proving that I've changed." A pale hand with long sturdy fingers extended towards her. "What do you say? Think we can try this again?" 

With a last calculating glance over his figure, she reached out her own hand and shook his firmly.

"You've got yourself a deal, Malfoy."


	15. H

In a surprising and fortuitous turn of events, things were going very well since resolving things with Draco. At first, interactions were still a bit awkward and felt rather like old rusty gears were grinding slowly into motion. But within a reasonable amount of time they managed to find a good rhythm. McGonagall picked up on the change near-instantly and was prompt in commending their efforts. 

Yet, though they were working well together, they were still far from being friends. The line was still firmly set. Buisness first. 

Draco, while never insulting or crass with her, was still a Slytherin. He still had the tendency to be just as proud and just as arrogant, though, mercifully, Hermione found that he was much easier to stomach than he ever had been prior. She had never expected him to suddenly act like, Iris Findlay, for example, but often thought bitterly that it couldn't hurt for him to try.

He was more intelligent than she had ever noticed in their previous years of school. She had never thought of Draco as the intellectual type. After all, he had spent a majority of their growing up years spending time with people like Crabbe and Goyle. But he was always well-spoken and rational in their disagreements. Hermione found it refreshing in a way. It was much better than the coarseness with which they had communicated previously. 

Though their arguments were not particularly frequent, banter had quickly become their default mode of communication. Each had managed to throw away enough pride to stomach each other's presence, but neither would give an inch more than they had to beyond there. And really there was no need to. After all, they had already accomplished their primary goal: working amicably together. 

She hated to admit it, but in all fairness, she had started the witticism competition. It had happened late one afternoon while they were in the library working on a new assignment from McGonagall. They had been tasked to discuss the specifics and possible implementation of several plans the teachers had already concocted as well as compile a list of their own ideas for the betterment of the school. They had already been brainstorming for a few hours and Hermione had been growing steadily more irritable as the dinner hour grew closer when Draco threw out the idea of bringing back the dueling club.

Instantly, Hermione's mind jumped back to their second year and the unpleasant memory of Harry's duel with the boy sitting in front of her. As she remembered the incidence with distaste, she couldn't resist a chance to take a jab at him. "What, you think you've actually got a chance now that Harry's not here?" she jeered testily. 

Draco's face morphed into one of unamused displeasure. "Do I sense jealousy, Granger? Must be rough now that your golden boy isn't around to flaunt his mediocrity. Or, perhaps, are you scared because Weasle-bee isn't here to hold your hand?" 

Hermione flushed. "What about you? Don't have Crabbe and Goyle to cower behind anymore. You've got _no_ chance against a well-aimed _stupefy_." She eyed him threateningly, daring him to incense her further, prepared for her retort. To her bewilderment, he burst into laughter. She eyed him skeptically. "And what, may I ask, is so funny?" 

"Granger, if you could see the look on your face. It's like a puppy trying to look dangerous." He snickered. "And, if I may add, it's not a crime to use a few conveniently placed dimwits as a strategy."

She cracked a smile in spite of her earnest attempt not to do so. "Touché, Malfoy." Realizing his victory, Draco's devilish smirk materialized.

After that, they both agreed to break for the evening to head to dinner and pick back up with it another time. Since then, they'd been attempting to limit the amount of time they spent together when either of them was hungry, but from then on good-natured jabs and a healthy amount of sarcasm were commonplace. 

While their relationship was far from healthy, she was at least grateful that it was somewhat enjoyable. Though not by choice, she was spending more time with him than anyone else. Even Ginny. 

The Gryffindor quidditch captain was still as busy as ever, but the two had been able to spend some much-needed quality time during a trip to Hogsmeade one brisk fall afternoon. They talked over a couple of butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks along with a box of assorted Honeydukes confections. Hermione took the opportunity to congratulate her on the on their team's most recent quidditch victory. 

"Your team did absolutely brilliant, Gin. You've done such a good job with them," Hermione praised. 

"Aww, thank you. But really, I think I just got insanely lucky this year. Everyone on the team has been very patient with me from the start and we all seem to get along pretty well too. They're the brilliant ones. I have to admit though, we've been practicing really hard since day one, but I was really nervous about our first game."

"Oh please," said Hermione. "Ravenclaw didn't even know what hit them. Two-hundred seventy to fifty? You guys are smashing it this year."

"Yeah, I guess we did do pretty well didn't we?" Both giggled. 

Her smile fading, Ginny then said solemnly, "I still wish Harry were here though." 

"Yeah… I know what you mean. I miss them too sometimes. It's just not the same without them chattering about in class. But I think they're really happy at the aurors office."

"Oh, definitely." Ginny nodded. "Those two were made for that job. It's funny though, you'd think that Harry would want to live more quietly since he's been such a magnet for danger over the years, but nope. He's just as attracted to danger as it is to him." Her grin faded. "Truthfully, I'm so glad to have him back. I can't count how many times I was scared I'd lost him. And then when we broke up two years ago because he was going off to hunt horcruxes…" She trailed off. "I wasn't scared for me, I was scared for him. But he insisted that we had to separate. I'm just thankful that everything has gone back to normal. Still, I can't wait to finish school so I can spend time with him again. After that, I don't think I'll ever let him out of my sight. " 

Hermione grinned. A softness overcame her as she thought fondly of Ron. She understood what Ginny meant. She missed her boyfriend dearly. They hadn't actually gotten to spend much time together. Between the end of the war madness, the two boys moving out, and Hermione going back to school, they had shared very few experiences as a couple. Little waves of sadness spread through her at the dreary sentiment. She tried to change the subject.

"So what do you think of McGonagall's new plans as headmistress? Some of them are pretty cool don’t you think?"

"Yeah, I think it's pretty amazing that she's trying to tackle so much in her first year. But honestly she's done brilliantly thus far. I don't think just anyone could have whipped Hogwarts back into top shape after what happened last spring, much less in a few short months, but she pulled it off." 

Hermione nodded her ascent. "Draco and I have been looking through some of the ideas the teachers have been talking about this year, and though I don't think I'm allowed to tell you what they are, I will tell you that they're pretty cool. McGonagall is really outdoing herself."

"Which reminds me, I've been wanting to check up with you about that. I've just been so busy, I can't remember half of what I'm supposed to. How are things with him anyways?" Ginny popped a handful of chocolate into her mouth. Hermione pondered the best way to address the subject.

"Well, he's actually being really good." Ginny gave her a glance full to the brim with skepticism. Hermione rushed into her defense. "I know what you're thinking and honestly I was as shocked as you are. But he apologized to me, you know, for being such a prejudiced twat, and we discussed it and we've just sort of agreed to put our differences aside and focus on our duties as head boy and girl." 

Ginny's eyes were wide. "We are talking about the _same_ Draco Malfoy?" Hermione grinned.

"I know, it's hard to believe, but we are. I don't know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but, he's really not that bad once you get to know him. We've been working together really well since then and we just sort of bounce sarcasm back and forth as a way to keep ourselves occupied."

Ginny looked from Hermione down to the table, still with a trace of doubt, and sat back against the booth. "Guess I'll need to see it for my own eyes to believe it. I suppose he's actually going to start acting like head boy at our meetings now. That'll be a nice change. But honestly, Hermione, that's wonderful. I know it'll make your year a whole lot easier."

"I'm glad he was able to get the whole blood obsession thing out of the way. You were right you know, Ginny. When I talked to you, you said you thought that maybe the war had changed him. Well it did. I suspect that between his father's imprisonment and the deficit in the number Slytherin students currently in attendance, it's been a whole lot easier for him to drop the whole superiority act."

"And good riddance! But if he steps out of line, you be sure and tell me. We've got some strong beaters on our team this year and I'd be more than happy to lend you them if necessary." 

Hermione grinned at the redhead who was in the process of consuming that last piece of chocolate from their box and thanked her, but gave her assurance that such measures were not likely to be necessary. Hermione was glad she had eaten what she'd wanted of the chocolates earlier, because Ginny had demolished the rest, leaving instead a well-ravaged carcass of what used to be a candy box. 

After an afternoon of laughter and a long, much-need chat, the two headed back up to Hogwarts with the rest of the visiting students. Along the way, Ginny caught sight of a few of her quidditch players and, apologizing, excused herself to go over to speak with them, leaving Hermione to meander the remainder of the path by herself. 

Along the way, her thoughts wandered to Ron. She missed him so dearly that she was nearly regretting her decision to come back to Hogwarts. She had been offered the same auror's position as her two best friends and Neville in the early summertime. At the time she was convinced that she needed to return to school and finish her education. She had never really wanted to be an auror but the job would have given her a chance to spend time with Ron. It saddened her to think that, really, they hadn't even dated yet- at least, not in the formal sense. Sure, they'd shared hugs and kisses, stolen glances, and held hands, but they'd never really gotten any alone time to just talk about or develop their relationship. The vast majority of the memories they shared were as friends. 

And though she knew that they wouldn't likely have gotten loads of time with each other living with Harry and Grimmauld place, it certainly would have been more than they were getting now. She sighed. As painful as it was, she was still confident in her decision. Education had always been very important to her, and coming back this year would enable her to get into the line of work that truly interested her. She would just have to tough it out until the end of the year. 

She consoled herself with a single thought. _At least I don't have to wait as long as Ginny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I'd remind you, so you get the reference, Iris Findlay is an OC of my own invention and is a bubbly, super-friendly Hufflepuff. And, as always, thank you for reading!


	16. D

Getting along with her was equally as infuriating as pretending he hated her. Their new pact had encouraged him and the year was finally going more smoothly, but somehow along the way, hope had weaseled its way in. He found it more and more difficult to push aside how he felt about her.

Since they had gotten past hating each other, a part of him had suddenly decided to get optimistic. When his mind would wander, he would often catch himself thinking that he might actually have a chance with her. It usually wasn't long before his rational side would step in and resolve the lapse in better judgement and he could return to attempting, seemingly in vain, to exile his feelings. 

Because, obviously, it was a total heap of rubbish. He was Draco Malfoy and she was Hermione Granger. Pure-blood and muggle-born. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Damaged and whole. Opposites. It would never work out. Sure, they were getting along now, as co-workers. But she would never be able to forgive him enough to open up to him as anything more. 

Besides, he was more than well aware of her relationship with the Weasley. It had been an item of gossip that the two had feelings for each other for quite some time, elevated further when the Daily Prophet caught wind of it over the summer. The writers at the paper had had a field day when they found out that two thirds of the golden trio were involved romantically, with each other no less.

While Draco had never seen the Weasel's appeal, he couldn't help but admit that the boy deserved her affections far more than he did. And for that reason, it was entirely useless for him to hold onto his feelings. Yet they clung to him mercilessly. He despised them more than he did himself. Heart palpitations and missed breaths were of no consequence to his daily life. 

Fortunately, he had a good enough excuse to keep busy between his classes and his duties as head boy that he often didn't have time to anguish over his impractical emotions for long periods of time. As the year went on, he was increasingly more thankful that he'd made the decision to turn down the opportunity as quidditch captain. His schedule was packed enough as it was. 

As head boy, Halloween was coming up fast and he and Hermione were entirely in charge of decorating the school for the occasion. As for the academic side of things, he was still managing to stay a couple steps ahead in his classes but only just. The school year was beginning to wear on him bit by bit. 

Conversely, he was growing more confident in his role as head boy as the days went by. At their most recent prefects meeting he had tried his best to be his most helpful self. The pair of them had discussed the meeting ahead of time and organized a rough outline for the flow of topics and who would present each one. It seemed to have done a fair bit of good because the meeting ran smoothly and everyone was let out well-before it's expected duration. 

One of the dedicated topics of discussion was the McMillan triplets of Hufflepuff. As it had turned out, the three were troublemakers through and through. Everyone was made aware of the siblings' antics and were told to take extra care to reprimand any suspicious behavior. Hogwarts wasn't particularly in need of another bathroom demolition. The Hufflepuff prefects assured the group that they were doing their best to keep a handle on their rowdy first years, but at the same time stressed the trio's uncanny predisposition to sneaky behavior. 

The month of November snuck past and soon the leaves were all but gone from the trees. Late fall brought with it frosty mornings and the occasional snow-dusted afternoon. It had been a particularly busy month for the seventh years. Everyone was convinced that their professors were conspiring against them because it seemed like they'd had a test nearly every other day for two weeks. 

Draco continued to work hard and was rewarded with top marks on each one of them. He was especially enjoying his potions class more and more as they began to delve deeply into all sorts of difficult potions. Slughorn had most recently started the class on a potion that would cause the drinker to grow in size, a brewing process that would take until Christmas. 

With the amount of studying Draco had to do, he often found himself in the prefects' study room with his fellow head girl. It was a fairly cozy with several cushy armchairs and study tables throughout the room. But the most important characteristic it possessed was that it remained noticeably more quiet than the library outside. Though it was an ideal place to study, few prefects, it seemed, found an interest in taking advantage of this fact. Every now and then there would be another student sitting at one of the tables, but generally it was just Hermione and himself.

However, as time went by and he spent more and more days alone with her in the room, he encountered a formidable problem. As he would work, he couldn't help but steal glances in her direction. And in spite of purposely trying to avoid looking at her, he would still pick up on the most subtle of her mannerisms. Like the way she always knit her brows tightly together when she concentrated. How she would bite her lip slightly on the right side every now and then when she wrote papers. Or when she would brush the end of her quill's feather lightly against the tip of her nose when she paused to read over her work.

Eventually it got the point where he couldn't focus when he tried to study with her in the room. Though he regretted it, he had to move his usual study space back into the library. It was addicting, observing her and cataloging her little quirks. Though as much as he enjoyed the captivation, he scolded himself regularly for succumbing to the temptation. Habits like those were guilty pleasures that only made his suffering worse.

Soon enough, fall wore away to snow-filled wintry days and the Christmas season came upon them. And Draco was dreading every second of it. It wasn't that he hated Christmas. In fact, some of his best memories were of past Christmas holidays. But he knew that a professor would be coming around all too soon to inquire as to whether he would be staying or going home for the holidays. Either choice seemed miserable. While it would probably be a good thing to go see his mother, he hated the idea of going back that house. Just the same, he wouldn't have any more fun at Hogwarts, cooped up in his room, avoiding people's watchful eyes. 

He wouldn't have anyone here to spend it with. He'd already checked in with Daphne to see what her plans were. Both Daphne and her sister were going home for Christmas. 

Draco gave the issue some more thought and finally decided that, for the sake of his mother, he would go home and see her. 

McGonagall was already hinting at new projects for them to tackle when they got back from break, but insisted that at the present moment she wanted them to be focused on Christmas preparations. It was Hogwarts' largest holiday. Whether a student was staying or going, all would participate in a grand feast on the evening before break started. The great hall was both the most important room to decorate and also the one that took the most effort.

Both the head boy and girl and the prefects team were in charge of decorating not just the great hall, but the entire school for Christmas. They had many things to accomplish in a fairly short period of time. It was generally expected that they finish it in no more than a couple days' time. 

It was tradition to enchant the suits of armor to sing carols, so they organized a couple of prefects to tackle that side of things. The grand staircase was usually decorated with icicles so another few prefects were assigned to do so. Several students got to work on the gift bags that needed to be filled for each of the students that were staying at Hogwarts over Christmas break. And on top everything else, each of the individual house common rooms was decorated with a large Christmas tree, ribbons, candles, and wreaths. 

They saved the biggest project for last. It was all hands on deck for the great hall. Though already difficult to decorate due to its sheer size, the biggest part of the project by far was the traditional twelve towering Christmas trees that were brought in every year. They had enough prefects for roughly two people per tree but that was only if everyone worked. During the two days they had planned to get it done in, they were unfortunate enough to lose a few hands for a couple of hours to a conflicting quidditch practice along with an additional prefect who was sick in the hospital wing. 

Everyone got to work quickly on an early Sunday morning two weeks from Christmas. The plan was to get it done all in one day after the house common rooms and the halls of the school had been attended to, and so far they were on schedule. 

The prefects team worked pretty much from sunup to sundown. The morning passed rather sluggishly, as everyone was still a little slow from their early start, but as the afternoon rolled around things were running much more efficiently. After a short break for lunch, Draco and Hermione started to enchant the great halls towering ceilings with a snow charm that McGonagall had taught them. The prefects spent most of the day getting the monstrous Christmas trees decorated and hanging other Christmas-y items around the walls of the hall. It wasn't physically strenuous work, but it required focus. Since only the very bottoms of the tall trees could be decorated by hand, their prefects needed to a great deal of concentration to perform the levitation charms necessary for a completely decorated tree. 

Luckily, they had a very skilled group of students working with them that year and as the evening wore on into night, nearly everything had been accomplished. When the Christmas trees had all been fully decorated, the two heads called everyone together shortly before midnight to praise their hard work and send them back to their houses for, hopefully, a good evenings' rest before classes the next morning. He and Hermione would stay to put on any remaining finishing touches.

Fortunately the only thing left to do was to place the fairies around the great hall. McGonagall had specified that only the two of them were to handle the task. Fairies were feisty little creatures and needed a team of at least two skilled wizards to be safely managed. So he and Hermione went tree to tree with a bewitched jar full of them. Each fairy had to be enchanted to stay within a few feet of their assigned tree. It took them the better part of two hours to get it done, but finally the last fairy had been stationed.

They sat in the deserted hall looking proudly at their work. Even though it was just the two of them sitting there, Draco thought that it felt less empty than it would have without all of the bright decorations. The fairies flitted about the trees, ephemeral snowflakes fell from high above, vanishing instantly when they touched down, and the numerous candles hanging above them cast flickering shadows about, altogether making the room look even more magical than usual. 

"Well, I don't know about you, but I could really use a butterbeer right about now," Hermione said, holding a hand up to her forehead. 

"Sounds good, " he said, plopping tiredly onto a nearby bench. 

She left the great hall for a moment and returned shortly with two foaming glasses. He almost inquired as to where she had gotten it from, but realized that he didn't actually care. He took a large swig from his glass when she had handed it to him and then lowered it with a satisfied sigh. When he glanced at her from across the table, he was shocked to see that she was nearly through chugging her drink. 

Right before she finished, she paused to take a breath, cast a refilling charm on the cup, and returned to chug yet another full glass. He stared at her with a mix of awe and slight disgust as she downed another two. When she finished, she slammed the cup down on the table, causing him to jump slightly. He grabbed at his drink, tried to sip casually, and took an interest in a nearby Christmas tree, pretending that he hadn't just observed her throw back four whole glasses of butterbeer. 

"I just love Christmas, don't you? I mean, it's just so wonderful," she said, her voice slightly higher than usual. He resisted the urge to laugh. She'd gone and gotten herself sloshed on a couple glasses of butterbeer? Four glasses wasn't that much alcohol. He quickly realized, however, that she wasn't drunk, just a tad tipsy. Enough to make her a little more silly than usual. 

"I'm so glad I'm going home this Christmas. I can't wait to see Harry and Ron and all the rest of the Weasleys. Not that you'd understand," she added wryly. 

Though he didn’t tell her so, he did understand. He almost wished he was visiting the Weasleys for Christmas. It would probably be more fun than where he was going. 

"I can't wait to get there. It'll be my first official Christmas with them. It's a shame that I can't spend the holidays with my parents, but it wouldn't be very fun since they don't know who I am anymore." 

He was taken aback both by what she had said and the causality with which she'd said it. And then it hit him suddenly, for the first time that, as muggles, her parents would have been in great danger with the dark lord rampaging about the country. He realized, in turn, that she must have done something to protect them during the wizarding war. If what she was saying were true, that something would have involved removing herself from their memory. His heart sank and he looked at her sadly. 

"But that doesn't mean I won't have fun with the Weasleys. We'll eat tons of good food and give presents and sing Christmas carols." Upon this statement, her eyes lit up. "Oh, Ginny and I always have the best time around Christmas. We sing and dance together." 

Rising from table with a slightly dazed look on her face, she threw an arm out dramatically and broke into song. Though initially greatly amused, he was surprised when a near-angelic voice sounded from her mouth. He sat, mesmerized, as she danced about in circles while singing powerfully in a dulcet alto range. 

Not long into her ballad, she became a little too excited and decided that dancing on the table would be a good idea. As Hermione tiptoed precariously around the tabletop, Draco stood abruptly and tried to figure out the best way to keep her from falling headfirst off the side. She giggled, dodging his attempts to grab onto her and twirling about the tabletop. Eventually, he managed to get a hold on her wrist. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to dance too?" 

Still giggling, he helped her down of the table. As soon as she was on the floor, she grabbed at his wrist and pulled at his arms, urging him to follow her motions. Captivated though he was with her ditzy behavior, he had no desire to dance. He attempted to break free of her grip but she pulled him still closer.

Suddenly he became acutely aware of just how close they were. They stood only inches apart from each other, engulfed by the encompassing silence of the great hall. Deep brown eyes froze him to the spot. His pulse quickened at points were her fingers met with his skin and he shivered where her warm breath spread across his neck. The faint pumping of blood roared in his ears as his heart worked overtime to compensate for his inability to draw breath. She smiled up at him, alcohol-kissed cheeks rosy behind her wild hair. 

He didn't know who initiated it, but suddenly it happened. His heart skipped a beat as their lips touched. It was a soft and gentle kiss so delicate that it almost couldn't exist. The soft skin of her lips latched to his and the tip of her nose grazed his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut and everything around him faded away until he was only aware of the point where their lips met. His stomach twisted wildly and his heart raced. But before he could remember how to think or move, the soft lips vanished. 

He opened his eyes and watched the regret cross her features, as if broken from a trance, and she turned to run. The butterflies in his stomach turned to molten rock and solidified, leaving him sick. His gaze followed her retreating figure from the great hall and up the staircase out of sight, each footstep thundering in his head, threatening to stop his heart beating. The light tinkling of the fairies was the only sound to be heard as he stood unmoving for what seemed like hours, the ghost of her lips tormenting him.

That night, he lay on his bed, cursing himself.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't left me a comment telling me how you feel yet, now is the time to do it! Did this happen too soon? Not soon enough? If you've got an opinion, I WANNA HEAR IT! :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading <3


	17. H

She had kissed Draco Malfoy. Yet every time she told herself this it became less and less plausible. How could she have done such a thing? What in Godric's name was she actually thinking?

That was the problem, she hadn't been thinking. She'd gone and gotten herself half-drunk in his company. She was not only completely and utterly furious with herself but also deeply ashamed. How on earth could she tell Ron about this? How on earth could she tell _anyone_ about this? It was hard enough just trying to break it to herself. She pushed the event as far back in her mind as it would go.

Subconsciously, she was thankful that it had happened so close to Christmas break. McGonagall didn't have anything left for them to work on, so she was spared being forced to spend time in his company. Her time outside of classes was spent primarily in the safety of her room studying with as little of her other time as possible spent anywhere that she might run into him. She intentionally skipped out on the last trip to Hogsmeade before Christmas, for fear that she might run into him there, and tried to eat as quickly as possible at meal times. 

Her conscience plagued her mercilessly and she felt dirty and dishonest. She pushed herself to hold on for the two weeks left before break, hoping that distance would help her find asylum from the guilt that haunted her. _Soon_ , she chided herself. _Soon you'll be home for the holidays and you can take time to sort out all this insanity._

Fortunately, the two weeks flew by. Unfortunately, she found no comfort once distance had isolated her from him.

After a semi-enjoyable Christmas feast she and Ginny boarded the Hogwarts express heading back to London. Hermione didn't feel at all like talking and pretended to be deeply interested in one of her books the entire way home. It was the first time she could remember ever having to pretend to read. 

To think that not that long ago, she'd been bursting with excitement to get back and see Ron and Harry again. The train arrived precisely on schedule, even though it snowed throughout their entire journey. Upon alighting, her stomach turned when her gaze immediately fell on Ron's face, beaming back at her. 

_He wouldn't be smiling if they knew what I've done_. 

The first two days back were the worst. Every moment spent around the Weasleys felt like she was walking on broken glass. Every time someone called her name she would give a slight jump and half expect them to accuse her of the awful thing she'd done. Avoiding Ron was becoming tedious, though with Mrs. Weasley's constant fussing over him, Hermione found it more easy than she would have hoped. Eventually though, she came to the point of feeling so miserable and on edge, she knew she couldn't possibly keep it inside any longer. She would have to tell someone. If she didn't get it off her chest soon, the guilt might suffocate her. 

At first, she considered telling Ginny, but didn't know if it was such a good idea. After all, she'd effectively just cheated on the girl's brother. This left Harry as the obvious choice. They had been best friends for so long; if anyone was going to understand, it would be him. 

At least, she was desperately hoping he would. 

She pulled him aside on a busy evening two days before Christmas, requesting a chance to speak to him in private. They made their way away from the house and out into the grassy plains that stretched out for miles in all directions interrupted only by the occasional grouping of trees. She looked back nervously as they waded their way through the tall grasses and hoped that no one would miss their presence too much. When they were a good ways away from the house, it was Harry that addressed her.

"You said you needed to talk about something, Hermione?" His tone was gentle and his glance her way was filled with care. She wondered absentmindedly if the care would still be there once she told him.

"I do... I do… I just don't know how to tell you." She fidgeted nervously with the hem of her jumper and bit her lip. "Well, I guess it started on my first day back at Hogwarts. Did Ron talk about my letter with you at all?"

"He mentioned it. Said he thought Malfoy was up to something suspicious. Something about him acting decent for once?" She nodded and proceeded to tell him the same information she had shared with both Ginny and Ron.

"And he's just been pleasant ever since?" Harry asked with a tone of incredulity. 

"Yeah. He's actually been kinda nice to work with. We get along a lot better now that we've been able to put it all behind us."

"Huh," he breathed, evidently still unawares of how to handle the new information. "Well I guess that's good Hermione. It'd be miserable if you had to work with old Malfoy all year." He paused and furrowed his brow in thought. "I mean, if I _really_ think about it, I'm not surprised that he's changed. Believe me, I've gone over that night in Malfoy Manor at least a hundred times and I suppose I've come to a similar conclusion. There's just no other good reason that he didn't turn us in or ever really fight back in any way. Not to mention that he and his family defected to our side during the Battle of Hogwarts. I guess, in the end, they all finally figured out how awful Voldemort really was." 

She winced at the name. It still made her uncomfortable.

"Still, I don't know if I could get used to the new Malfoy after knowing him for so long. Getting chummy with someone who’s been so foul? And a Slytherin no less?" He shuddered and then gave a slight disbelieving shake of his head. "You're a better person than I am, Hermione." 

Hermione said nothing. On the inside she was chanting, _No I'm not. You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what I was going to tell you._ She needed to go on, but how could she? Tears started forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" 

A lone, broken sob escaped her as the tears broke free and began to fall. Harry wheeled around. 

"Hermione! Are you okay? What… what happened?" He rushed to her side and without hesitation pulled her in toward him. She buried her face in his soft heathered jacket. He held her tight and ran a hand gently up and down her back to comfort her.

"What's wrong Hermione? Please, you can tell me." She sobbed as tears stung her eyes.

"I…I...c-can't." 

His voice was now low and soothing. "Sure you can. I'm here. I'm here for you." She didn't want to. But she had to. Guilt was welling insider her as if threatening to burn a hole through her heart. She tried to communicate between the powerful sobs escaping her body.

"I…I…ki…issed….Ma..alfoy." She crumbled out of his arms and down onto the ground below. She pulled her knees up and buried her face as far into her crossed arms as she possibly could. Shame sent shuddering aches running through her body. 

Harry cautiously got down on his knees behind her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "It's okay Hermione."

"No it isn't!" she yelled. "It's completely unforgiveable. How could I do something like that? How could I do that to Ron? Oh Harry, how will I ever tell him?" 

He pulled her close again and she unfolded enough to let herself be held. The only sounds to be heard were the muffled, wet sounds of her sobs as he simply let her cry. 

Harry didn't speak again until her sobs had died down to slight breathy hiccups. "How did it happen?" 

She sniffled miserably. "We were in the great hall, alone, after we had just gotten finished decorating for Christmas. I was tired and I wanted a butterbeer so I went and got us a couple from the kitchens and I must have drunk a little too much because next thing I knew I was kissing him." Her voice was bitter as she recalled the event. Harry remained silent. "Oh Harry, I've felt positively awful since it happened. I want to tell Ron…" She sighed heavily. "I just don't think I can."

It seemed like months passed as she waited for Harry to say something, anything.

"Hermione, I know it's going to be hard, but you've got to tell him." His tone was serious. "Look, I know Ron, and he's probably not going to take it well, but you've got to be honest with him. And not only for his sake, but for yours."

"But what if he-"

"I don't know what will happen," Harry said with a sigh. "Ron will be Ron. He always has done. But I think that the sooner you tell him, the better your chances." He gave her a gentle reassuring squeeze and smiled. "I'm glad you told me though. And I want you to know that, whatever happens, I'm here for you. Okay?"

She managed a feeble nod. Harry remained with her in silence, holding her until she was ready to go back to the house. 

As they walked back, she muddled over Harry's words. He was right of course. She had known it as well. Not telling Ron would tear her apart from the inside- the past week alone had shown that. Still, she was terrified. What if he got mad? What if he decided that he didn't want to be with her anymore? 

But she couldn't change the past. She would just have to live with whatever punishment she deserved. 

At least it was a relief to know that Harry didn't judge her.

Hermione decided to wait until after Christmas to take it up with Ron. It was painful, holding it in, trying her best to pretend like nothing lay amiss, but she didn't want to put another damper on his favorite holiday. It was the family's first Christmas since they had lost Fred and Mrs. Weasley was in a particularly fragile state. 

George showed up for Christmas eve and stayed overnight to celebrate with them the next morning. Hermione noticed that he was also more sober than his usual self, though she didn't blame him in the slightest. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he was dealing with- what she knew he would always have to deal with. On Christmas morning, she caught sight of a tear running down his cheek when he opened his new sweater alone for the first time. 

Hermione herself was holding back tears on Christmas day. Having been too busy hunting Horcruxes with Harry to have a proper Christmas celebration the year before, the weight of not having her parents around to celebrate had finally come crashing swiftly down on her. Though the Weasleys had often been much like a second family to her, it did not by any means take away from the fact that she and her father would not watch their favorite Christmas movie on boxing day together or that she and her mother would not bake gingerbread men at any time in the foreseeable future.

Luckily for her, Ron was too busy with Christmas preparations and helping to console his mother that he didn't set aside any alone time for them until a few days after Christmas had passed. Her break was nearly over and he seemed to notice that time was slowly slipping away from them. He pulled her aside one afternoon nearly half way through her last week there. 

"Tough to get some alone time around here, isn't it? It's always been that way though," he said with a tired expression. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he whispered in her ear. "What say you and I go for a nice long walk this evening? Just the two of us." She tried her best to look excited as she nodded in agreement, but anxiety churned dangerously below the surface. 

They headed out about an hour before sundown as the sun's descent was drawing near to the horizon and its soft yellows and oranges began to saturate the surrounding atmosphere. They set their course for a hill about a quarter of a mile in the distance. It was Ron's favorite spot to watch the sunset. He was in a chipper mood as they walked, talking about his favorite quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, and about his work at the aurors office. She tried to listen attentively, but found it very difficult to pay attention as her own worried thoughts bounced turbulently about in her head. 

She pretended not to notice when he attempted to take her hand and stuffed them into her pockets as if to keep them warm. They were shaking so violently even Ron would have taken notice. When they reached the hill, Ron laid out the tattered checkered blanket they'd brought to insulate them from the cold ground. The sun's slanted rays washed their way over the field and up onto them as they sat down to watch it sink. She glanced over at Ron's illuminated face as he squinted at the horizon now tinged in pink. He looked so peaceful and pleasant. 

_What a waste_ , she thought, _to spoil such a beautiful scene._

Her heartbeat quickened and her breath became unsteady in preparation for what she was about to do. She was going to hurt him. She was going to hurt the boy that had been with her as a friend since her very first year of Hogwarts. The silly little redheaded boy that had teased her and bickered with her, but the one that she had fallen head over heels for just the same.

She was going to hurt her best friend. This thought broke her heart anew and she fought back a gathering of hysteria. Two sweaters and a winter jacket didn't help her much when the coldness she felt was welling from within.

"Ron…" He turned to face her, his expression curious and attentive.

"I kissed Malfoy."

She's said it. Gotten it out of the way quickly… but not painlessly. Her heart sank instantly as his expression darkened. It sank until she couldn't feel it's beat anymore. A mix of worry and confusion conflicted upon his face. A laugh startled her.

"Yeah, ha ha, very funny Hermione. Like I'd actually believe you would kiss a wanker like Malfoy." But his smile began to vanish again as he noticed her face remained dead with sobriety. 

"I wish I was joking, but I'm telling the truth. I'm ashamed and I'm sorry. You deserve to know the truth." Even the tears wouldn't come. Her nerves had been so shot to hell that she couldn't feel anything. Even without a heart to feel it with, she couldn't bear the pain as she watched the hurt weave its way into his features and she had to look away. Her voice came out as little more than a croak. "It was an accident, I promise. I was half-drunk and it just sort of happened…." she dropped off. She had nothing more to say. It sounded too pitiful when she tried to defend it.

Ron was silent and then silent some more. She risked a glance in his direction to see him turned away from her and into the sun. His jaw was clenched and a vein was making itself prominent on his neck. He was silent until only the last few rays of the day shone over the tree tops in the distance. The last little slivers of light were inching their way back down the hill and toward the horizon as if tiredly returning home after a long day's work.

"I don't understand," he muttered. His voice was gravelly and unstable as he attempted to conceal what Hermione knew had to be anger and confusion. "You've been snogging Draco Malfoy? As in, the boy whose first word was probably some prejudiced slur? As in, the death eater? As in, the same cruel bully that I've been trying to defend you from since day one? The one who, not that long ago, we were sure was up to something devious? What the hell changed?!" His voice was raised and sharp. She flinched.

"He's… changed… he apologized for what he did-" Ron cut her off.

"And suddenly that makes it okay to make out with him?!"

"I didn't say that- it was an accident," she squeaked, now feeling impossibly small.

"I should have known from the beginning," he spat. "You were never interested in me. But that's what I am, aren't I? That's what I've always been! Some sort of consolation prize! Someone temporary!" His gaze was withering.

"Ron, I never said that. I never even thought that. How could I ever? You've always meant so much to me." Her voice cracked as tears flooded her eyes.

Everything was falling apart.

"Ron, I love you. I've always loved you."

But the words seemed to bounce off of him, his face showing no indication that he'd heard or understood her.

"Save it," he huffed, standing up and turning away. "I thought that when you cheated on me one day it'd be with someone better than the likes of Malfoy. Funny how I spent all that time worrying about you and Harry. Now I wish it had been him." She felt lucky that she had no more heart to break. If she had, she was sure those words would have dissolved it completely.

She wanted to speak but no words came. She wanted to reach out but her arms were paralyzed. She felt like she was dematerializing as he walked away without another word. It felt like she was blowing away on the cold December wind that now pierced its way through her clothes. Thick tears blurred her vision as she watched his figure grow smaller in the last faint grey light of the day. The bitter cold and her own unfeeling numbed her body and her ties to reality dissolved.

_Is this what it feels like to die of heartbreak?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'd just like to issue an apology to you all for the quality of the past couple of chapters I posted. I don't know if you even noticed a difference and I'm just blind and the rest of my story is also riddled with small mistakes(though I've been regularly going back and trying to fix those), but the past 2-3 chapters were posted in rather more of a rush as I was away from home and quite busy the past couple of weeks, so I didn't get to read through them as thoroughly or as frequently as I wanted. Since coming back I've gone over them again and tried to amend the little typos and grammatical errors. I usually do much better so I'll certainly keep trying to put out near-perfect chapters (at least in terms of syntax) the first time round. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me and for taking the time to read my story. You're all wonderful.


	18. D

Draco couldn't stop thinking about her. It was as if he was now contractually obligated to picture her face and nothing else. Every free moment he had to think was filled with deep brown eyes and wild brown hair. The memory of their kiss continued to replay near-endlessly, plaguing him. He had run back over what had happened many times and each time his comprehension of the events became less and less clear. As far as her could tell, neither one of them had initiated it. It was almost like a magnetic field had activated for a brief moment and neither of them had control of their movements. 

Of course, no matter who had kissed who, it didn't mean anything. Whether he had wanted to kiss her or not, which of course, he had, Hermione obviously hadn't kissed him because she'd wanted to. She'd been half-drunk at the time and, by the face she'd made, had instantly regretted it. He was just as sorry it had happened. Every time he thought of her now he would feel the ghost of her soft lips and the gentle pressure of her fingertips and his heart would jump from his chest. 

It seemed like every time he hit rock bottom, he somehow fell for her longer and harder the next time. 

Love was such a pointless and irrational thing. The logical side of him knew that he had no chance. Knew that she would never truly forgive him. Knew that he could never win over the boy who had been by her side for so long. But his heart clung to a sickly-sweet sort of optimism that tried to convince him otherwise, driving him mad.

Yet life carried on through his confusing emotions and so did he. The last of his school work still had to be finished before Christmas break. He still had tests to study for and a trunk to pack for the holidays. Whether a blessing or a curse, he didn't see her again. The two weeks flew by quickly and soon he was heading home on the Hogwarts express. Daphne sat with him in a compartment near the front of train. 

He thought about telling Daphne about the kiss, but honestly regarded the whole event as useless information. There was no need for analysis or contemplation. A tipsy girl had kissed a boy she was unaware had feelings for her and that was the whole of it. Beyond that, he was determined to keep it secret for Hermione's sake. She probably wanted the story to be spread even less than he did. And while Draco trusted Daphne not to go spouting his secrets, the fewer who knew the better. 

It was the type of story he would have shared with his mates readily back in the day. That is, if it had been any other girl; he would have been ashamed to have gone anywhere near Granger when he was younger. A younger Draco probably would have spun the story up into some sort of steamy snog session. His mates would have laughed and clapped him on the back congratulating him on a job well done. The notion made him sick. Each day he grew increasingly more spiteful of his former self. 

The train ride was fairly uneventful. Snow was just starting to fall when they pulled off from Hogsmeade station and continued to fall steadily through most of their journey. He and Daphne played exploding snap for a while, then chatted casually about their holiday plans, and spent the rest of the ride sitting quietly. Daphne took a nap on the seat opposite him and he watched out the window as the countryside flickered between hills, forests, and fields. 

His thoughts wandered to the cold empty halls in Malfoy Manor and he was filled with dread. He hadn't especially missed them. Even the dungeons of Slytherin dormitory had a similar aesthetic without being nearly so cold and unwelcoming. He wasn't entirely sure if he should be excited to see his mother either. He had missed her, that much was true, but their relationship had frayed in the past few years. Even her weekly letters had not yet made their reappearance. They'd stopped some time ago, late fifth year when their family life had started to become tense. What would she be like having spent the better part of four months alone in an empty Malfoy Manor?

In a surprising turn of events, which he could only describe as the universe finally cutting him some slack, he found his mother in relatively happy spirits and not at all the miserable downtrodden soul he'd come to expect. She lovingly embraced him with a wide smile when she found him on the platform and was fairly cheerful and talkative on their journey home. They arrived at the manor on a crisp winter day, the sun shining in a cloudless sky. 

Malfoy Manor also surprised him when he found it in a significantly less gloomy state than when he had left it. He didn't quite know how to describe it or what to make of it. In an odd way, it seemed like the building had been healed.

The meal celebrating his return was particularly extravagant that evening and over dinner they talked about his past few months at Hogwarts. She inquired about his grades and how he was liking his position as head boy. He told her truthfully that he was enjoying it more than he'd expected to but conveniently left out all information pertaining to the head girl. In turn, his mother told him about the hobby she had picked up while he was gone: painting. 

As they were finishing up their meal, Draco tried to ask casually if she'd heard anything from his father. She froze up and flushed a few shades whiter. Talk of his father was almost taboo. "No," she responded simply and, after a few uncomfortable moments of silence, excused herself from the room. Of course he realized that there was simply no way she was being truthful, but he didn't push the matter and instead decided to turn in for the evening.

His room was the same as when he'd left it. His Hogwarts letter was still lying on his bed where he had put it down on September first and his broomstick still propped against the wall, untouched in the corner of his room. 

He eyed it curiously as he set his trunk down at the end of his bed. It was growing late in the evening and darkness was already falling, but he had the sudden compulsion to mount it and just fly off somewhere. Without much hesitation, he followed the urge and soon was soaring far above his family's mansion. The house's chimneys and the trees in the courtyard grew smaller behind him and the wind rushed through his hair as he shot upwards. The cool night air was invigorating as he took a deep breath and it filled his lungs. 

He felt so free, sitting there on his broomstick, miles above the ground. No one was around and no one was likely to be. He closed his eyes and for a moment, allowed himself to dream. It was a luxury he didn't often feel like he could afford, in the emotional sense. Dreams were just that, dreams. Most were unattainably farfetched and she was one of them. But he would let his mind wander just this once. 

He imagined her bright face beaming up at him, her soft hands pressing against his chest and his arms wrapped around her. They stood watching the sun set over the lake in his favorite spot at Hogwarts. She laid her head on his shoulder and he recalled the familiar scent of her hair. It was an intoxicating blend of book pages, tea, and a hint of citrus. A peace came over him at the sensation of his arms enveloping her slight frame and even so high up in the air, he felt her grounding him. Oh what he wouldn't give to never let go. 

A strong gust of wind blew him back to reality. He steadied himself on his broom and sighed heavily. For all the happiness the image had given him, an equal amount of an emotion akin to loss writhed its way into his stomach. It was painful to know that he would never hold her like that. He knew he would never be allowed that close to her ever again. The first time was an accident. A terrible accident. 

He drew up the collar of his coat to combat the cold sting of the wind on his face on his flight back. He lay in bed that evening with the same heavy feeling sitting firmly upon him. The pain of losing something you never had was just as painful as the real thing. 

On the days when he was able to keep the persistent thoughts of her out of his head, he found himself pleasantly enjoying his days with his mother at Malfoy Manor. Afternoon tea with her was particularly entertaining as they sat and chatted about the latest news in the Daily Prophet. 

Christmas day came and went quickly. His mother gifted him a beautiful alchemy set complete with an ornate magically-extended trunk made of mahogany, full of basic potion ingredients, along with set of pure white gold scales and a cauldron to match. His name was engraved on each in fancy script. Draco couldn't remember ever being so excited for a gift. He did his best to thank his mother fervently and hugged her at least four separate times. 

Indeed, he was so excited to try it that he toyed around with it the rest of the afternoon and had successfully brewed a draught of peace by the time his mother summoned him to dinner. He had picked the potion consciously for its simplicity and in anticipation of the N.E.W.T.S he had to look forward to at the end of the year. 

The time after Christmas flew by and before long he was staring at his trunk again on the eve of his return to Hogwarts as the winter holiday came to a close. Strange how, despite all the positive occurrences he'd experienced the past semester, he was still filled with apprehension at the aspect of his return. 

Reluctantly, he packed away his things. He debated back and forth for a while over his broomstick and in the end decided to bring it along. With all the flying around he'd been doing nearly every evening over break, he'd become reattached to it and found that it was usually a reliable way to clear his head. At the very least, he figured it might help him do the same with all the homework and tests he would have to get through in the upcoming semester.

As he was fitting the last of his untouched textbooks into his trunk, a knock came from behind his door. "Come in," he called. His mother entered.

"I was just calling on you to say good night," she said, strolling over to him. She reached her arm around him for a loving embrace and then tiptoed to give him a kiss on his forehead. He smiled at her and bid her goodnight. As she was leaving though, he remembered the pressing question that he had been meaning to ask her.

"Mother?" he called after her.

"Yes, what is it, dear?" She turned in the doorway. 

"I was hoping that you might have some news about father is all. Are you sure that you have nothing to share?" Diabolical though it probably was, he'd done his best imitation of young, worried Draco Malfoy, preying on her motherly instincts in the hopes that he might be able to weasel some information out of her. Again, her face became drawn and pale, just like it had on his first night back. An internal struggle seemed to ensue as she debated whether or not to share whatever information she had. 

"Well, I supposed I wasn't quite honest with you the other evening," she admitted finally. "I did visit him while you were away. I was permitted to see him..." she cut off reluctantly. 

"And what happened?" he urged her.

"Your father… well, he wasn't of particularly… sound mind when I saw him." Her face took on a expression similar to terror. "Oh Draco, it was awful to see him in such a state. Chained up like some animal, half-starved, and dressed in rags." She looked away and moved a black lace-covered hand to cover her mouth. "He told me how much he misses us and how he wished he could have seen you. I told him that you had made head boy and he was so very proud of you dear." 

Her eyes dropped to the floor. Whatever was making her so worried, she hadn't shared it with him yet. "He… well he seemed optimistic… " Draco was anxious with anticipation. He could feel it. She was on the verge of telling him. 

"Honey, I don't want to upset you, but your father confided something with me while I was there. He said he was optimistic that he would soon be released for probation on good behavior." She nervously adjusted her nightdress. "I do not wish to speak ill of your father, but I fear that he did not come by it honestly. I would love nothing more than to see your father returned home to us, I worry for what people will think and do. I fear that they will become angry if he is let off early. You remember how people reacted when his sentence was reduced to seven years." And remember Draco did. They had received some particularly nasty and threatening letters following his father's trial. Thankfully, nothing had come of them, but he remembered the numerous sideways glances that had been shot in his direction when he'd shown up for his own hearing at the ministry.

He looked at his mother, whose eyes were now swelling with tears. Walking over to her, he pulled her into a comforting embrace. It was miserable to see her in such a fearful state. It felt like the war all over again. "We'll be alright. People are going to think what they're going to think." He wanted to say more, but he couldn't. He wanted to tell her that his father would never intentionally put them in harm's way, but he felt like he would have been lying. Lucius had already done so many times before.

She wiped away her tears and smiled up at him. "I'm sorry that you had to see mummy cry. Don't you worry about me. You just worry about finishing up with school. Your father and I will work this out. Don't let us get in the way of you following your dreams."

He gave her a beaming smile and she turned to leave the room. It faded instantly when he heard the door click shut behind her. He sighed as he finished packing and climbed into his bed for the last evening of sleep he would have in the house for a while. He thought bitterly of his father, who at the same moment was lying in a cell in Azkaban. Maybe he should be happy at the aspect of his father's release. But the truth was, he wasn't. The man had gotten in the way of Draco following his dream a long time ago, before he had even known what it was. 

Or rather, who it was and now it was too late.


	19. H

Hermione shot awake at the sensation of someone shaking her. The world around her was bitterly cold and dark. Looking around, she started when she couldn't ascertain where she was. Fear coursed through her as she turned to look at who had awoken her. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Harry kneeling beside her with a thick woolen blanket. She must have fallen asleep. Through the haze of her sleep-addled brain came an image of Ron with his back towards her, walking resolutely away in the dimming grey of twilight. Maybe it had all been a bad dream. A glance at the cold tattered ground cloth beneath reminded her otherwise. A painful pang spread through her as heart-wrenching reality struck again. 

Snow was falling and leaving a thin layer of white dust around them. She wondered how long she'd been out there. The murky darkness and the aching cold in her fingertips suggested longer than what would be considered ideal. Harry wrapped the blanket around her and picked her up. The twisting feeling of apparition pulled in her gut and instantly they snapped into existence just outside the burrow. Warm yellow light poured onto them from within as Harry carried her toward the worn wooden front door. He pushed it open and warmth spread across her face as they crossed the threshold. 

Ginny was standing in the kitchen with her back turned to them. Once he had placed her in front of the fireplace, Harry rushed off towards Ginny and returned shortly with a piping hot cup of tea. Hermione reached a pair of shaking hands from inside her woolen cocoon to accept it. The tea spread warmth through her body as she drank. Feeling began slowly returning to her toes and fingers.

Harry watched her from a couch nearby, his expression drawn and melancholy. As she warmed by the fire, they sat in silence, interrupted only occasionally by faint clinking or bumping sounds as Ginny tidied up the kitchen. After a few minutes of this, Ginny joined them, taking a seat by Harry on the couch. When Hermione finally stopped shivering, she broke the silence. "Thank you." 

Harry shook his head, as if indicating for her to think nothing of it. "Warming up alright?"

She nodded. Then, knitting her brows together, Hermione inquired, "Do you know how long I was out there?" Harry's jaw clenched as a steely look reflected from his eyes. 

"Hard to say, but I reckon probably around two hours. That's about when Ron came back. Merlin, was he in a right state. Stormed about the house collecting his things and shoving them into his bag, mumbling to himself all the while. Mrs. Weasley dared to ask what on earth he was on about but he only snapped to tell her that he was leaving immediately. We were all wondering where you'd gotten to and Ginny remembered seeing the two of you leave just after dinner, so I confronted Ron about it but he wouldn't tell me where you were. Said you were a grown woman and didn't answer to him when you wanted to go somewhere. 

"So instead, I asked him where he was going and he told me he'd be at Grimmauld place until I came home after the holidays. Said he couldn't spend another minute in the house and disapparated. Poor Mrs. Weasley nearly had a mental breakdown. Ginny and I waited around for you, but something felt off about the situation. After a half hour or so had passed and you still hadn't come back, we were getting worried and decided to look for you. Since there was still a decently good chance you were still out there, we walked around outside and called for you, but didn't hear any response. And still, something about the whole situation just felt off. But we couldn't waste time scouring the whole field because the snow was already starting to fall, so we decided to try Ron again. 

"We went to Grimmauld place to confront him, but he was so furious he pulled his wand on us and tried to hex us from the house. He and I disarmed each other and ended up in a fist fight. If it wasn't for Ginny, we might not have found you in time, or at all. She managed to successfully find the memory of where the two of you had been last using the legilimens charm. She was absolutely brilliant, as usual." He cast a proud glance in his girlfriend's direction. Ginny blushed faintly and finally spoke up.

"I can't believe I pulled it off either, seeing as I've never done it before. I'm glad it worked though, otherwise you'd still be out there." She paused to look over at Hermione, sympathetic eyes aglow with the reflection of the burning fireplace. "Please don’t be mad, but Harry's already told me what happened. I will say, I'm a little disappointed you felt like you couldn't tell me about it, but I understand why you didn't. Still, it was a drunken kiss for crying out loud. Not really something to get your knickers all up in a twist about."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said with a smirk. Hermione cracked a slight smile as Ginny shot him a contemptuous glare before turning back to address her.

"Really, I'm just furious that Ron would leave you out in the cold and refuse to tell us about it. We didn’t know where you were or whether you needed help. It was lucky we decided to go looking for you at all. Most of the time we give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you can take care of yourself. Don't worry though, Ron's got his comeuppance. After we petrified him, I hit him with a few nice stinging jinxes. He should be feeling those really nicely by morning." 

Hermione's lips morphed into a half-hearted smile, masking the dull ache in her heart. A yawn forced its way from her as she was suddenly overcome by exhaustion. The combination of the warmth of her blanket and the tea in her tummy were getting to her. 

"We can talk about this more tomorrow," Harry said. "You, need to get to bed and have some rest." He walked over to her and picked her up again. Ginny trailed behind them as Harry ascended the stairs and helped open the door to the bedroom Hermione was staying in. Harry laid her gently on the bed while Ginny blew out the lamp on her bedside table. The two bid her good night and closed the door as they left. 

Hermione had no time to reflect on the day's events, for no sooner had the door clicked shut than her eyelids drifted slowly down and sleep took her. 

She awoke the next morning with little beams of sunlight sneaking their way through cracks between the room's orange curtains. Sitting up in bed, her neck and back protested with a chorus of sharp snaps and cracks. Her head thundered with a massive headache and her limbs ached from the shivering she had done the day before. _Such a waste_ , she thought to herself. _It's like I've got a hangover but I haven't even consumed the alcohol to justify it._ If she didn't already feel so rotten, she might have considered remedying the injustice. 

Instead, she dragged herself out of bed to rummage about her trunk for her store of pain-alleviation potion. She found the bottle stashed carefully in a small wooden box at the bottom and took a swig of the gritty green liquid. Most healing potions were fairly nasty and this one was no exception. She winced as the taste of burnt iron spread across her palette, but she choked it down and stored the bottle back where it had come from. The headache immediately became more bearable. 

Hermione checked the watch sitting on her bedside table. It was right around lunchtime. The stairs creaked beneath her as she made her way downstairs. At the lunch table, Harry and Ginny sat talking over sandwiches. On the other end of the room, George sat reading a magazine in a cushy armchair across from Mrs. Weasley, who sat in a rocking chair knitting what looked suspiciously like next Christmas's sweaters and chirped a warm good morning when she noticed Hermione step into the room. It was evident that she knew nothing about what had gone down between Hermione and her youngest son which instantly relieved Hermione's conscience some. 

Hermione made her way into the kitchen, put together a sandwich for herself, and then took a seat at the table. Both Ginny and Harry gave her a smile as she joined them. 

"Feeling alright this morning?" Ginny asked.

"Much better. Thanks to you two." Hermione smiled at her. 

"Good." Ginny smiled back, then looked over at Harry with a serious expression, as if urging him to say something, and then back at her. "Harry and I have been thinking, and we want you to know that we think that Ron's bound to come around eventually." 

Immediately, Hermione's stomach twisted and her appetite disappeared. She didn't want to talk about Ron. She didn't even want to think about him. Just the mention of his name sent guilty shivers running through her.

Harry nodded eagerly in ascent. "Yeah. I mean, you know how Ron is. He gets jealous at the smallest things. He'll remember how crazy he is about you. You'll see."

Hermione appreciated their attempts to make her feel better, truly she did, but she didn't find their comments at all encouraging. Part of her felt like maybe she deserved the abandonment. She had just broken his heart after all, he didn't owe her anything. But part of her was scared. He'd left her out in the cold, refused to tell anyone where she was, and didn't care enough to see to it that she made it home safely. 

Of course, this was Ron they were talking about. He probably hadn't even realized she was in danger. If he had known she was actually in any trouble there probably wouldn't have been any need to force the memory out of him. Still, a little part of her couldn't help but feel uncertain. Conflicting emotions and multiplying thoughts were causing her head to spin, so she did her best to gather them up and push them as far back into her mind as she could. She didn't want to think about him at the moment, it was far too painful.

"Yeah, maybe," she said, trying to sound upbeat. She took a bite of her sandwich, feigning the normalcy of actually having an appetite, and attempted to change the subject. "So what are we going to do on our last two days, Gin?" Distraction. That's what she needed. 

"Well, I don't know about the two of you," said Ginny. "But there's a good amount of snow on the ground, and I'm dying to go out and take advantage of it." She got up from the table while taking a last swig of orange juice. "Feel free to join me." Harry waited with Hermione as she finished her lunch, effectively foiling her plans to ignore her body's basic needs in favor of feeling sorry for herself, and then set off with her to get changed into their warmer winter attire. 

The snow outside looked beautiful, blanketing the plains around the burrow with several inches of pure white powder. The three trudged about in the snow for hours and, mercifully, Hermione's mind was given enough freedom to temporarily forget and simply enjoy herself with her friends. They made snow angels, built a family of adorable snowmen, and attempted to build an igloo, though their poor attempt ended up in a sad heap. 

At one point in the day, Harry had even dared toss a snowball good-naturedly at Ginny. But when nearly a hundred were pelted back at him by both girls holding their wands, he conceded defeat quickly and the short-lived snowball fight was over. 

Soon the sun was setting in the western sky and Mrs. Weasley poked her head out to beckon them in to get out of their snow things and get ready for supper. 

Despite all that was looming in the back of her mind, Hermione was surprised how much she had enjoyed herself outside. It was lovely to spend some time with two of her best friends, something the three of them hadn't had a chance to do for too long.

At dinner that evening, the family even managed to pretend that Ron wasn't missing. Everyone laughed and joked merrily over their bowls of Mrs. Weasley's delicious pumpkin soup and talked about Ginny and Hermione's return to Hogwarts. 

George and Mrs. Weasley left once dinner was through- she was visiting him for a few days for some mother-son time- and Mr. Weasley disappeared to his workshop, leaving the three of them together again. 

That evening they sat together in the downstairs and played a few board games together, including a particularly heated round of wizard's checkers, until it occurred to Hermione that perhaps Ginny and Harry would want some time to be alone together, since both girls were leaving the day after next. She needed to get her things in order for school anyways. N.E.W.T.S were coming up after all, and she hadn't yet made a single study schedule. She bid them an early goodnight and excused herself to her room. 

In solitude, thoughts of Ron swam threateningly towards the forefront of her mind but she did her best to push them away and focus on what she had to get done. She managed to draw up a few sheets before she became too tired to continue and climbed into bed for the evening. Emotional stress was doing her one favor at least, for she fell asleep quickly both that night and the next after a day consisting almost solely of packing. Soon, she and Ginny were bidding Harry goodbye on platform 9 3/4, as he was the only one who could make it to see them off, and they were on their way back to school. 

Hermione was more happy to get back to her textbooks than she had been in a long time, which was saying something. She needed an excuse now more than ever to distract herself and get her mind off Ron. She knew she was putting off the inevitable. That, sometime in the, probably, near future, it would all come bursting out of her in a flood of emotion she couldn't control. But she didn't want to handle it. Not if she didn't have to.

So, with her mind set firmly on the academics ahead and her mind barred from the distractions of her past mistakes, Hermione threw herself back into her school work, relieved by the distraction that school offered her once again.


	20. D

Draco was glad when he arrived back at school after the holidays. He had enjoyed himself at home more than he had originally thought he would, but it was good to get back to his classes and see Daphne again. His train ride back had flown by as Daphne told him, in every painstaking detail, about her break. 

He spent the whole ride sitting patiently and listening. And while he appreciated the distraction, what he couldn't fully appreciate was her extremely, and extraneously, detailed approach to story-telling. Daphne was far from being boring or obnoxious, but merely had a tendency to stray off subject and occasionally fixate on specific details, telling him much of the same thing over and over again. He found himself missing her customary rant, though he regretted ever doing so when his wish was later fulfilled at dinner upon their arrival.

Soon he and his classmates were back to the Hogwarts usual. Classes resumed and slowly the talk of everyone's holidays died down. Their teachers cracked down hard starting day one, readying everyone for the tests that grew steadily nearer. On any given night he usually had a sizable pile of homework and at least one paper to write for each class per week. Needless to say, it kept him quite busy. 

And then to top it all off, McGonagall decided to add in some more responsibility to the mix. Not long after school resumed, the headmistress had summoned her head boy and girl to her office for a meeting. Now that the break was over, she was ready to undertake planning for an event the teachers had come up with at the beginning of the year. 

"We think that it is important that, as a school, we take some time to honor the parents of the many wonderful children we are so fortunate to teach every year. Which is why, I would like to instate a parents' night, one for each of our classes of students. We would like to familiarize parents, most especially of the muggle persuasion, with our school and what it is we do here. The two of you will be in charge of making this a reality. The prefects are at your disposal should you need them, and I should encourage you to take advantage of this fact. I am well aware of how busy your schedules are becoming. This is why we have planned the events for late February. Hopefully far enough away for you to plan, but early enough not to interfere with your N.E.W.T.S preparation.

"We have already sent out letters to all of our parents. The first two events will be on the Friday and Saturday of the third week of February. The next two weeks will host the rest concluding with our final evening on the first Saturday of May. The events will take place on six evenings in total as the sixth and seventh years parents night will be a joint group. We thought it best, for your sakes, that you need only put up and take down decorations at the beginning and end of three weekends." Draco greatly appreciated the sentiment. While they had not been required to take down the Christmas decorations, putting them up had certainly been difficult enough. 

"It is of utmost importance to us that we use this as an opportunity to show off our wonderful school. A great deal about the evenings has already been worked out, so you needn't worry about planning the whole thing. A banquet will take place in the great hall at 6:00 sharp. Parents that are incapable of transporting themselves here magically will be arriving via the Hogwarts Express. I have spoken to Hagrid, and he has agreed to ferry all of our guests over on boats, much like we do every year with our new students. I should mention however, I would prefer that the two of you organize a few prefects to accompany him. I think it unwise that we pair enchanted boats and muggles with a man that is not allowed to do magic.

"Furthermore, attendance will be mandatory for both our prefects team, including the two of you, and for all students that belong to a year's particular evening, however, they will need only join us for the dinner portion. All other years' students will eat in their dormitories. After dinner, two prefects will pair with several of our teachers to give our guests a tour of the castle. It is your responsibility to remind each of them to wear their dress robes and look smart. It is very important that they make a good impression. Also, let me make myself clear when I tell you that every precaution will need to be taken to ensure our evenings run as smoothly as possible. As for your own parts, you will be handling decorations as usual and, of course, the scheduling and handling of your prefects team. I trust you can handle this. After all, I have the utmost faith in you." 

After leaving the headmistress's office, the two stood awkwardly apart as the staircase made its descent to the corridor below. Draco stole a glance in Hermione's direction when they reached the bottom just before she briskly took off without a word or any acknowledgement of his presence. He sighed and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. Six weeks seemed like a lot of time for them to plan, but if they couldn't get over what had happened, it wouldn't matter. In order to do that though, they would need to talk first.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

The rest of his first week back and most of his second week passed and the little he saw of her was almost exclusively in class. It was fairly obvious that she was avoiding him, given that she was always gone within seconds of class ending, giving him little to no opportunity to approach her. If she was trying to make him feel worse about the whole matter, she was definitely succeeding. But he was determined to find a way to talk to her. McGonagall was counting on them. 

Catching her alone was turning out to be an impossible task. While, he regularly checked the prefects' study room, it soon became apparent that she had stopped using it, probably for the exact reason he kept checking it. And on the exceedingly rare occasion he passed her in the hallways, it was always when a large group of students stood between them, effectively insulating her from his advancement. The whole affair was becoming tedious; he hadn't counted on her going so far out of her way to evade him. But he wouldn't be giving up any time soon. 

One afternoon he and Daphne were walking down the hall to the library for free period after transfigurations class talking when Draco realized that he had left his potions book in their previous class. After a quick apology to Daphne and a grumbling of frustrated curses, he set off on the long trek back up to McGonagall's classroom. Of course he'd remembered all the way down at the library. It would've been too easy to remember when he was still on the same floor.

After a lovely scolding for interrupting her class and a five point deduction from Slytherin, he retrieved his book from McGonagall and began his second trip down to the library. 

As he turned into a corridor leading down to the entrance hall, a faint noise caught his attention. It had come from a classroom just ahead of him. His first instinct was to keep on going, but curiosity got the better of him and a guilty conscience persuaded him to act as a prefect was supposed to- something he hadn't done nearly enough during his appointment as such- when suspicious noises sounded from seemingly empty classrooms: investigate. 

He patted his wand for reassurance- that it still lay concealed within his robes, ready should he need it- and cautiously approached the classroom door that had been left cracked open. Draco gently pushed it ajar, his eyes darting about for any sign of danger as he stepped inside. When at first he didn’t see anything, he decided to use the revealing charm. _Homenum Revelio_ he whispered. A small translucent marker floated from his wand and hovered in the far corner of the classroom. 

He cautiously approached the desk beyond which the marker hovered and, as he peeked around it, his eyes met with none other than the brown irises of Hermione Granger. She immediately looked away but not before he noticed the trails of water running down her cheeks. A pang of guilt spread through his chest. Where those of his doing? Hermione moved her lips but he heard nothing. Evidently noticing this, she made a brief sweeping motion with her wand and then spoke again. 

"Come to scoff have you?" she asked miserably. He stood awkwardly over her. He knew that it probably wasn't the time to talk to her, but he didn't know when he might get the chance to talk to her again, let alone in private. 

"No," he whispered. He didn't know what else to say. "Are you okay?" he managed finally. Just too late, he realized what a dumb question it was. Obviously she wasn’t.

Rightfully, she choked out a laugh. "No. But then why should you care? There's no one around to earn you any brownie points, so you can cut the niceties Malfoy." He swallowed hard as he resisted the urge to get defensive. 

"Look, I'm not sure how you found me, but if you're just here to gawk then you'll want to un-find me quick." She tapped her wand impatiently on the stone floor. "If you catch my drift." 

"I…" he stammered, unsure of how to respond. "I heard a noise while I was walking outside. I didn't mean to intrude. I'm sorry." He shuffled his feet uncomfortably beneath him. Emotional outbursts like this made him nervous in a way few things could. His voice dropped as the question nagging him spilled forward. "I didn't… Did I do this to you?"

Another scornful laugh. "No, funnily enough. This time it was Ron. Though I suppose indirectly it was you, since that bloody kiss we shared is what upset him." His heart dropped. She must have told him and things had gone south. She continued. "Maybe I should have kept it a secret. But he probably would have heard it from someone else anyways." After a pause and then another cold laugh, she shot poisonously, "I'm sure your friends thought it was funny when you told them Hermione Granger had gotten herself drunk and kissed you." 

"I didn't tell anyone," he said quietly. Her face flashed with surprise but immediately morphed back to heartbreaking despondence. 

"Too ashamed then? Well, then I'm _so sorry_ that I soiled your pureblood face with my dirty mudblood lips." He winced as the word left her mouth. It sounded so hateful even when it wasn't directed at him. 

"Granger…" his voice trailed off. How could he avoid making everything worse? He forced his voice to be even and firm. "I told you, I don't think that way anymore. I know it's hard to believe. And hell, I don't blame you. I probably wouldn't believe me either if I were in your shoes. But I made a promise that I intend to keep, and I have every intention to continue proving that to you and everyone else," he finished gravely. 

She said nothing, staring resolutely at the wall. A lone tear materialized and ran its way down her cheek. She drew a sharp breath, but a whimper escaped her. All of sudden, Draco realized how intrusive he was being. He should have made himself scarce before he even stepped in the room. He'd been stupid; now obviously wasn't the time to talk the logistics of their relationship. 

"Look, Granger I'm really sorry I bothered you." He stepped backwards towards the door. "Honestly, I didn't mean to intrude." Mid-turn, he paused and stated, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry it caused you so much trouble." It. The kiss. The one exceptionally good thing that had happened to him and yet, the one mistake he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive. Especially not anymore. Not with what it had cost her. With a last, regretful glance her turned fully away and headed for the door.

"He just left me…" she stammered. Draco froze.

"Weasley?" He looked over his shoulder to see her nodding. She was standing now, facing him, her shoulders hunched, making her look even smaller than usual. Tears nearly formed in his own eyes as one of the most pitiful sounds he'd ever heard escaped her lips. He turned to face her, entirely at a loss as to what to do. 

"He left me out in the cold and he didn't look back…" She closed her eyes and hunched over as her body shook.

"Then he's a bloody idiot," Draco stated plainly. He walked cautiously back over to her, still completely unaware how to best handle the situation. How was it that she made him feel so utterly useless?

Silence hung in the rigid distance caught between them as she straightened through her sobs. 

"Hold me." The voice that came out was little more than a choked whisper.

He didn't need to be told twice. Didn't need to be told where to put his arms, weaving them sturdily around her torso as she slumped against his shoulder. Didn't need to be told how to guard her protectively, reaching a hand up to run it gently over her hair. He didn't need to be told how to comfort her. The motions came naturally to him as she trembled fragilely in his embrace. 

They stood, silently entwined in the empty classroom as his heart broke evenly with hers.

In that moment, their pasts didn't matter; only two beaten and bruised souls existed. And for the first time, they touched across a broken boundary.


	21. H

Something about him was different, there was no question about it. If she'd had any doubts before, they were now no longer. A switch inside her had been flipped as she'd stood wrapped in his arms. The realization that Draco Malfoy was not the same sneering, vulgar, malignant boy that she'd met her first year. For the life of her she could not figure out what had possessed her to do so, but she had asked him for comfort and, even stranger, he had given it. 

However, both the kiss and the hug went unmentioned in the weeks to come. They had mutually and, incidentally, silently agreed to leave it in the past. Their attention turned instead to more important matters and they began McGonagall's requested planning with five weeks' time still remaining. Long hours of discussion were spent in the library between their time dedicated to completing mountains of homework and papers. 

Hermione found herself in an odd yet, surprisingly, not entirely loathsome position. She couldn't have explained how it had transpired- most especially because of all that they had been through- but as they shared copious amounts of time together the most curious thing happened: they bonded. A hodgepodge mix of stress, responsibility, deadlines, and working while hungry had formulated an environment that magnetized humor as a means of relieving tension and she soon discovered that Draco had been hiding one of his best attributes. Aside from their usual brusque competition of wit, he had a sort of twisted sense of humor that, while mildly crude in its nature, was one that she found thoroughly entertaining. 

She did not, of course, share this information with him. For one thing, she needed to maintain some semblance of dignity. For another, if she was correct, the only thing he enjoyed more than teasing her was complimenting himself. She wasn't about to let his ego inflate any more than necessary. Which left her more often than not holding back fits of laughter in an attempt to mask how amused she truly was. 

Another secret skill Draco had been keeping locked away was his artistic proficiency. On a particularly late evening they were drawing up some rudimentary sketches of décor possibilities to implement in the great hall. They were sat at a table in the prefects' study lounge in the library as Hermione put the finishing touches on a simple depiction of the great hall. The picture was going to be used as a layout reference to determine where the best places to put decorations were, how to set up the tables, and so forth.

"That's your best attempt?" he'd asked her with an obvious snort and judgmental glance when she finished her picture. If there was one skill he had never been hiding, and still sorely lacked, it was discretion.

"I mean, it’s a rough drawing," said Hermione, trying to defend her cursory attempt.

"You've got that right," he said, bemusedly. She folded her arms and looked indignantly over at him. 

"Alright, you do it then." 

He grabbed a quill and within minutes had drawn up a much better and more helpful sketch than she had managed. She stuck out her lip and huffed when he held up the finished product.

"Come on, Granger. I didn't mean to insult your artwork. It's lovely, really. I mean, just look at your attention to detail." He pointed a finger past her uneven, boxy tables to an inkblot in the center of her parchment. "You even added yourself, how cute. You know, you've really managed to capture the essence of your bushy hair-" 

He gave a devilish smirk as she picked up a textbook and smacked him. Then he feigned mortal injury, howling and clutching at his arm and she fought the urge to smile, shooting her best unamused frown his way. _What a drama queen_. She cleared her throat and hastily shoved her unrefined drawing to the corner of the table, hoping he didn't notice. 

"Now then, for the decorations…" They carried on into the evening talking about tapestries, table settings, and centerpieces.

Though they'd had a rough start, Hermione found herself feeling quite fortunate. New Malfoy was reasonably easy and lighthearted to work with, dedicated, and entertaining- something she couldn't have said the same of for the other would-have-been head boy candidates. Incidentally, something she didn't know she could say for him either. She was still unsure of how things had turned out so well for her. 

Not only had she gotten lucky in the head boy department, but she was also growing increasingly more grateful for her skilled group of prefects. Sometime during the holidays, the McMillan triplets had gotten their hands on Weasley products. Merlin have mercy, and they thought they'd had their hands full before. The three Hufflepuff first years didn't seem to care much that all Weasley products were explicitly banned. With magical firecrackers and dungbombs in hand, they seemed to hit their stride, maxing out their mischief-causing potential, much to everyone's chagrin. 

Even an entire team of prefects was barely enough to keep the three troublemakers under a reasonable amount of control. Poor Hannah Abbot and the other Hufflepuff prefects worked twice as hard within their own dormitory, often bringing back horror stories to share at meetings of firecrackers hidden under the common room's seat cushions, quills that dodged your hand if you tried to pick them up, and butterbeer candies that you couldn't stop eating. 

Between her ever growing list of duties to the school as head girl and the piles of homework that seemed to multiply before her eyes, Hermione kept so busy that it wasn't until she actually sat herself down one day and consciously put her mind to it did she think about Ron. Even then, it hadn't been until she was nearly forced to do so. She sat on her bed, staring warily at a letter from him she'd received with the breakfast mail rush, uncertain of whether or not to open it. Which was she more terrified of it reading, that he was breaking up with her or the opposite?

Her heart began to ache as she relived her most recent memory of him, his outline fading away to grey surroundings as he turned his back on her and walked away. The memory still filled her with fear. 

The problem wasn't that he had gotten so angry about the kiss or even the pain of him leaving her out in the cold. The worst part was knowing that he didn't trust her, and apparently never truly had. 

Her mind turned to the biting, jealous remarks he'd shot at Harry and her on the night he'd left them to hunt Horcruxes on their own. She'd written those off, convinced that Ron hadn't actually meant anything he'd said and instead attributed it to the locket's dark influence… but now she was doubting that to be entirely true. She turned her thoughts to what he'd said before walking away from her. 

" _I should have known from the beginning. You were never interested in me._ "  
" _I thought that one day when you cheated on me…_ "

He'd been so convinced, so certain that she'd just been using him for their entire relationship when she couldn't think of a single thing she'd done to make him think that way. And the way he'd put it, like even before she'd given a him a reason to be suspicious, he had been expecting her be unfaithful. How was she supposed to continue a relationship that didn't have any trust?

She gave a sideway glance to the foreboding envelope sitting on her bedside table and another question formulated amongst her wild thoughts.

Was there even a relationship left?

Ginny and Harry seemed to think so, given the comments they'd made at breakfast the morning after the whole debacle. But even if they were right, and even _if_ she believed them, did she really want him back? There was no denying that she missed him, but the damage had already been done. She knew that he didn't trust her, and now that she'd given him a tiny reason to confirm his fears, she worried how paranoid he would be if they somehow managed to make it through the whole bloody mess. 

She sighed heavily. Of course, it was no use to continue speculating, or she'd be doing it for eternity. As Harry had said, Ron was going to do what he was going to do. She picked up the envelope gingerly, as if handling a live grenade, and tore into it gently. She would just have to read it and go from there. 

She was almost disappointed at the tiny piece of parchment she pulled from the envelope a second later. The message was short and read:

  


Hermione, 

I've arranged to come visit Hogwarts on the afternoon of  
the 18th of January. If you would, I'd like to meet with you  
so we can talk about us.

Please send an owl with your thoughts. I hope to see you  
then. 

Ron

 

In some respects, she wished he would have told her outright how he felt. Then she wouldn't have to wait until his visit. But perhaps, like her, he didn't quite know what his feelings were either. It simply couldn't be avoided: they would have to talk. With no reason to turn down his invitation, she wrote a short note detailing her agreement and a meeting place and took advantage of her free period the next morning to send if off at the owlery. 

The days passed quickly despite her fear that they would not. She had always been good at setting aside her thoughts and feelings when work needed to be done and that weekend held no exception. She managed to complete a 36-inch-parchment paper for History of Magic with 8 inches spare as well as several other extraneous assignments. She also finished rereading her Ancient runes textbook and checked it off on her study schedule. One of her study goals for the semester was rereading a list comprised of all her textbooks and a dozen or so supplemental works in preparation for the end of the year tests and was already halfway done with her list. It pleased her greatly to know that if she continued at her current rate she would be able to complete the list three times. It was impossible to be too prepared.

_If only that were the case in my non-academic endeavors_ , she would lament. In the emotional sector of her life, it seemed like no matter how much effort she put in, she could never be prepared enough. She was painstakingly aware the entire morning before her meeting with Ron of how horrendously _ill_ -prepared she was to sort out their whole mess.

After potions, her last class of the day, she meandered down to the entrance hall and across the grounds, out towards the spot she had recommended they meet. A force within her seemed to pull her back towards the castle, but she trudged onwards. It would do her no good to run from her problems. Still, her insides churned nervously as she made her way steadily down a hill to where his figure sat outlined on a rock. When her steps were near enough to be heard, he turned and watched as she warily approached and took a seat on a rock adjacent his. 

For an awkward few moments, neither one said anything and Hermione avoided the familiar set of blue eyes that searched her. 

Then Ron started in a hoarse voice, "Hermione, I'm," he paused briefly to clear his throat. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. For starters anyways." 

She turned hesitantly to look at him. He looked tired. His face was paler than usual with faint circles under his eyes causing his drawn expression to look even more severe. 

"It was wrong of me not to tell anyone where you were. I was bang out of order that night. Had I known you were in any sort of trouble, and I swear I didn’t, I wouldn't have acted the way I did." He looked at her expectantly, but she said nothing, keeping her expressions indecipherable. 

"I er, wanted us to talk about _us_." 

He seemed to squeeze the last word out with extreme caution as if it were a fragile delicate thing, which, of course, it was. She nodded, signaling for him to continue. Anticipation was quickening her heartbeat as thoughts shot around violently in her head. She wasn't ready to speak just yet, not until she heard what he had to say.

"Well, I've been thinking long and hard on it, and I reckon that we should probably… take a break… for a while…" He gave her an inspecting look, scanning her for any semblance of emotion. 

The confusing mass of emotions she'd been fighting with all week seemed to dissolve into one and the relief that spread through her told her all that she needed to know. Jumbled thoughts ordered themselves and the writhing unease in her stomach quieted. It had been impossible to admit with so many unknowns surrounding their conversation, but she'd been struggling to come to terms with what she knew was the right move going forward. She couldn't take him back. She wasn't ready. 

"I would have to agree with you," she said, breaking her silence. "We jumped into our relationship too hastily. There was so much madness going on around us at the time and we never actually stopping to consider the future." She paused and then chuckled at the thought that came to her. "Maybe that was part of our problem, because for a while there we didn't even know if there would be a future." She looked over and saw him nodding silently.

"Hermione, I especially wanted to apologize for getting so jealous." He looked at her with deep sincerity. "I mean, you know my past. I'm the sixth bloody child in a family of seven, the last boy before Ginny was born… It doesn't take a genius to realize that my parents didn't want me. At least, they didn't want me to be a _boy_. I've just grown to expect everyone to treat me like I'm second rate. I know it's not right and it's certainly no excuse for what I said to you and I am, truthfully, ashamed. I realize now that there's a whole lot of stuff I need to work through before I'm finally worthy of you," he concluded with a crooked, loving smile. An embarrassed grin spread across her face.

It was incredibly reassuring to hear his confession. Of course, she had known his doubts. In fourth year, even he and Harry's special bond had broken due to Ron's jealousy. They'd managed to get over it in the end, but Hermione knew that Ron still hurt a little every now and again when people referred to him as Harry Potter's friend or as the brother of any one of his siblings. His identity struggle was an issue she had always felt he desperately needed to sort through. An issue she had long been expecting she would have to expose him to but, at the same time, one she wasn't sure she had the heart to. It was incredibly relieving to hear now that he was aware of the problems he had to work through and was now consciously attempting to do so without her influence.

"Don't be silly, Ron. You've always been so good, both to me and for me," she said truthfully. "I think that some time to reevaluate and recuperate is what we both need right now. Maybe someday in the future we can talk about an "us" seriously again, but for now, we just need some time and space to work these things out. I need someone who can trust me to tell the truth and to do what's right by them. I can't be in a relationship without trust."

A strange peacefulness settled over her when she looked at him and a wave of understanding passed between them. 

They sat quietly until Ron broke the silence with a laugh. "If it makes you feel any better, Harry chewed me out something awful when he saw me again. I won't deny that I deserved every bit of it, but Merlin pants, the way he was defending you. It was almost like he'd forgotten we've all been best mates since first year. He should know I'd swear allegiance to Slytherin house before I'd intentionally let either one of you get hurt," he noted seriously and then paused. "Reckon he's gone and exposed himself now though. He's playing favorites and I'm not it." 

Hermione was about to worry that jealousy was getting the better of him again when she detected the fake hurt in his voice and saw the crooked grin on his face.

"Hardly," she huffed. "I don't let him get on with all that quidditch nonsense around me. Not to mention, I make sure he washes his hands before meals and gets to bed at a good hour. You're definitely the "fun" one between the two of us." 

They both laughed but in an instant, Ron's face turned serious again as he asked another question. "So there's really nothing going on between you and that slimy ferret?" She couldn't suppress the scornful laugh that forced its way out. 

"No, Ronald. We're just friends, if that. More like colleagues. Colleagues who shared a stupid drunken kiss at two in the morning after a full day of non-stop work." Unmistakable relief spread across Ron's face. 

As they got up and began walking back towards the castle, a question formed in the back of her own mind and began pressing its way forward.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" he said, a shadow of worry darting across his face. 

"Can you promised me that we won't let anything get in the way of our friendship? I mean, you and Harry both mean so much to me… I simply can't bear the thought of us being broken apart."

His expression softened. "Neither can I." He held his hand firmly out to her. "I promise."

"Not even a slimy ferret like Malfoy?" she tested jokingly with raised brows.

"Don't push it," he shot at her. "But I promise, nothing." She grinned, taking his hand, and they shook on it. 

"Not even a slimy ferret like Malfoy."


	22. D

Draco deemed that it was highly plausible he was now certifiably insane. Every time he thought he couldn't like her any more than he already did, he'd catch her lost in thought, her brows tightly-knit and lip slightly pouted, or she'd shoot an expertly crafted witty remark at him and life would cackle cruelly as he fell harder. Worse still were the long planning sessions where they sat close physically while, emotionally, they remained distant. Being on speaking terms was at least less painful than not talking to her at all, but only just barely. 

On the friendship frontier, things were looking promising. They were getting along brilliantly and working well together as head boy and girl. But in terms of romance… if he was a butterfly net, she was the wind.

He had always been particularly good at controlling his feelings and not letting his mind wander. However, panic began to set in when he became suddenly aware of his steady loss of control as thoughts of her took over his mind. He was finally realizing how dangerous his guilty pastime had been. Allowing his mind to stray and letting the pleasure of raw happiness overcome him as he daydreamed about her had slowly stolen the reigns away from him. It was too late by the time he realized how thoroughly entangled his soul was. He ached with a tangible desire to simply love her. He had been scared before; now he was terrified. 

He had recklessly allowed himself to fall deeply in love with a girl he could never have.

Daphne had been suspicious of him for quite some time. He still wasn't quite sure what her deal was; it was uncanny how she could smell an emotional imbalance from a mile away. Sensing that something was off, she had been persistently, albeit gently, prodding him since their return from break to open up to her about what was bothering him. Draco had been reluctant to do so, seeing no point in discussing something as useless as the feelings he had for a girl that would never reciprocate. Only when he eventually became so hopelessly frustrated and lost that he felt he would burst if he didn't get the whole thing off his chest, did he relent to telling her.

They sat in the deserted Slytherin common room, Daphne listening and looking at Draco intently as he conveyed the events that had recently taken place between Hermione and himself. 

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he explained to her. "I can't stop thinking about her. It's like I want her more _because_ she's off limits. And really its always been like that, except now it's getting out of hand because I can't have her. I'm at a complete loss as to what to do. It's that bad, that I even went so far as to look for a feelings removal spell." He huffed indignantly, hoping to communicate how embarrassing and inconvenient he found his desperation. "Even then, the closest I came up with was alcohol. Not helpful considering its one of the things that got me here in the first place." He grumbled and shifted uncomfortable in his black velvet chair. 

Daphne's features were bound in deep concentration. When at last she seemed to catch upon an idea, her face became even more serious. 

"Did you ever consider just telling her how you feel?" 

He gaped at her in disbelief. It wasn't that simple. Daphne of all people should know that. They were talking about a girl that had despised him for the better part of eight years and, for all he knew, probably still did, at least a little.

"Have you been listening to anything I just said? Or did you miss the whole part where I bullied her for six years straight? Or even, perhaps, the convenient little tidbit where _my Aunt_ tortured her and carved obscenities into her skin? Or maybe-"

"Oh come off it Malfoy," she cut him off, looking irritated. "You know I bloody-well heard what you said. I'm just asking if the possibility has managed to push its way into your thick skull. It would seem not, given that you think a smart girl like Granger would blame you for something your psychotically deranged aunt did. Where's the sense in that? From what you've told me about that night, you did the best you could to keep them out of harm's way."

"They barely escaped with their lives, Daphne! I should have done something. But no, I just sat there. I just sat there while she was butchered not ten feet away from me. I'm nothing but a coward," he spat sourly.

"Oh sure, like suddenly teaming up with three Gryffindor prisoners of war would have been a smart move at the time. I think if you'd tried anything more, either your aunt or You Know Who himself would have slit your throat for subversion and you all would have ended up dead. You need to stop slighting yourself, Draco. Need I remind you of all the horrors you've been through?"

" _No_ ," he hissed forcefully. "They do that well enough on their own, thanks."

"Pre _cisely_ ," she said, adding an extra amount of stress to the end of the word. His scowl deepened. He had come to her for sage advice, not to get told off.

"Now, before you go off on me again, let's just try to think rationally for a moment. Let's look at your odds here. What might happen if you tell her how you feel?" She prodded him with an expectant look.

"I don't know Daphne," he said, the tone of exasperation evident in his voice. He looked away from her, feeling frustrated. "She probably won't ever want to talk to me again."

"Merlin, Draco, we've been over this before," she said, agitation edging her voice. "Hermione Granger takes her job way too seriously. She'll talk to you again so long as the two of you are head boy and girl of this school."

"Then she'll hex me all the way to McGonagall's office and force her to replace me," Draco countered simply.

" _Or_ …?" Daphne countered in an acutely unimpressed tone.

" _Or_ … she could slap me, shout at me, maim me with spells I've never heard in my life, you name it, the list could go on and on. More than likely she'll just get sick at the repulsiveness of the whole thing." 

Daphne rolled her eyes dramatically at him, evidently unimpressed by his suggestions. " _Or_ … she might appreciate that you're trying to be transparent with her." Daphne spoke matter-of-factly, as if she'd just said the most unambiguously obvious thing in the world. "And, who knows, there's always a chance she feels the same way."

Draco laughed at how miraculously inconceivable her suggestion was. "There's about as much chance of that as there is for Slytherin to win the quidditch cup this year."

"Fine then, were you going to enlighten me as to another way you were planning on dealing with your pent up frustration and anguish? Or… what?" She'd gotten him there. He had come to _her_ for advice, whether he was in agreement with it or not.

"Just for a second, Draco, can you let yourself imagine what would happen if she did feel the same way?"

"But she-"

"Let's just pretend for a minute, okay? Whether she confesses her feelings for you tomorrow or if you have to wait years for her to come around, what if she eventually felt the same way?" He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, slouching against the back of his chair. This was exactly the sort of behavior that had gotten him so deeply into this mess in the first place. 

"It would be amazing," he stated plainly. He resisted the urge to add _but it's never going to happen_ , knowing that if he did, there'd be hell to pay. "I just imagine life without her and it's so dull and colorless. But when I close my eyes and think of her, all the shadows in my mind seem to vanish and the chaos and the pain of the world don't exist. It's just her with her brown eyes, and her smile, and the little wispy hairs by her ears that never do as their told." He felt his heartrate increase as the image he was describing painted itself within his mind. 

"I'd give anything for it to be real," he confessed in a near whisper.

"Why can't it be?" Daphne asked simply. He sighed again as he forcibly extricated his thoughts from his imagination. 

"Because Daphne," he managed tiredly. "Whether she ever feels the same way about me or not, I don't deserve her."

He was shocked when Daphne's next words came tumbling out.

"Damn straight you don't." His expression morphed to one of equal parts hurt and indignation. He hadn't expected her to be quite so blunt.

"If you don't want her, just keep doing what you're doing: pretend like your feelings don't exist, wallow in self-pity because you'll never be good enough for her, let her continue to believe that she doesn't mean anything to you. But if you're so worried about being a coward then maybe you should stop acting like one! You want to be good enough for her?! Grow a pair and tell her how you feel! You're only making life unfair for yourself. If you're not even going to try, how can you possibly sit here and tell me that you're sure of anything?" Her eyes flashed violently and her voice dropped an octave, a foreboding eeriness invading her tone. "I can promise you this Draco, the 'what ifs' will haunt you forever." 

Daphne must have noticed the look on his face for moments later her expression softened. She began again, this time much more slowly and gently. 

"Look Draco. You're good enough for her for this very specific reason: because you think you're not. It's impossible to love someone fully and selflessly unless we realize how grossly- how _hilariously_ \- unworthy we are. So no, you don't deserve her… but the fact that you realize this is exactly the reason that she deserves you." Her blue eyes seemed to glow as they gazed piercingly into his. 

He stared at her, allowing the power of her words to sink in through the silence hung between them. She gave him a reassuring smile that perfectly matched her set of caring eyes. They shared no more words, but simply sat watching as the candles of the Slytherin common room flickered and the telltale creaks and groans of the dungeons echoed faintly from all around them. He knew she was right, of course, as she almost always was. And as he sat next to her contemplating, an unexpected optimism seemed to burst forth- hope in the microscopic chance that Hermione would feel the same way, if not today than perhaps one day- and the realization that, if there was even the slightest chance that he could be with her, he would be a fool not to take it.

Sleep evaded him nearly the entire night, nervous thoughts and worries swimming menacingly in his mind through the inky darkness between his pupils and the emerald green curtains of his four poster. All night he fought with the small but persistent voice inside his head which kept insisting that Hermione Granger would never love someone like him. A pariah. A marked man. Damaged goods. He hoped with all his might for it to be wrong.

The next day, he walked as if on pins and needles. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt so nervous and uncertain. How was it that she made him feel like an emotionally ill-equipped teenager all over again? Years of arrogance and dramatic pretentiousness crumbled and he was left to entertain the frightening concept of being completely honest with her. 

They had agreed to meet that evening, a couple of hours before dinner, to make headway on scheduling for McGonagall's big parents' night. As he stepped past the moving bookshelf into the prefect's study room, his heart skipped a beat when his eyes came to rest upon her. Her mane of hair was gloriously bushy and untamed, the way it frequently got when she focused for long hours. It was one of his favorite things about her. 

She glanced up and smiled kindly when he entered and began shuffling her papers around and putting aside the many books she had sprawled across the large table. Soon she'd cleared as space for them to work, and he pulled a chair up beside her.

Dinner came and went as the hours they spent working passed painfully slowly. He was more acutely aware of her presence next to him than he'd ever been before. He prayed that she couldn't hear his heart as it thumped violently and rapidly in his chest. And though he did his best to concentrate on the work at hand, he found his gaze wandering near-constantly up to the clock on the wall, over to her, then back again. 

Many times he almost started to address her, but lost his confidence and, frustrated, turned back to his feeble attempts to focus on the work at hand. He couldn't understand the strange apprehension he felt nor the sudden absence of his usually-reliable over-confidence. It hadn't been like this with any other girl he'd been with. But then, he'd never tried the whole emotional honesty thing with any of them. Of the three previous relationships he'd had, all had been drastically more physical. 

Hermione was a different sort of enigma entirely. She wasn't a needy fourth year, or a Ravenclaw with a kink for young blondes, and the fact that she wasn't head over heels obsessed with him was part of what made her so appealing. She was sort of complex that drove him insane and smart in the most alluring and unnatural way possible. Kind and beautiful and brave and- Merlin almighty, he didn't stand a chance with her. The small amount of optimism that had sparked confidence in him earlier fizzled again, waning on extinguishing completely. 

Odds were, what he was planning was about to end terribly and he had become suddenly aware of the likeliness of his imminent rejection. Though he was no stranger to it, he was by no means a fan of rejection, yet here he was putting himself in a position to be annihilated by it. He found the aspect of making himself vulnerable so immensely discomforting and yet a strange force within was compelling him just the same. 

How was it he could be commanding and bold with girls like Pansy, and skip straight to snogging, but somehow be incapable of performing even the simple task of expressing how he felt to a girl like Hermione? The feelings she caused him were as perplexing as she was.

An hour or so after dinner, they took a "study break" in order to work on school work for a while. They resumed planning shortly before Madam Pince came by to let them know that she was locking up for the evening. Prefects were allowed to use the study room as long as they liked, but once they left the library after it was closed, they would be shut out for the evening. 

After a few more hours and relatively-unproductive arguments, he stretched and yawned. "I think if we don't break soon, I'll suffer permanent brain damage. What say we finish this up tomorrow?"

"As if you haven't already," Hermione quipped with a testy smile. He gave her a deadpanned look though, on the inside, he was relishing her wit. "But yes, I think that sounds like a good plan."

Nervous energy churned tumultuously in his stomach as they tiredly began to sort through the many books and papers scattered on the desk. If he was going to get it over with today, as planned, now was the time to do it. He did his best to mentally prepare himself. With a last deep breath, he looked up to speak but saw that she was already slinging her bag over her shoulder and turning to go. 

His confidence cracked and collapsed at the thought of stopping her to call her back. It felt like all his momentum had been ripped straight out from under his feet. He unceremoniously stuffed his remaining things in his own bag and rushed out after her as the bookshelf began to slide closed. With a short dash he met with her stride. They exited the darkened library and walked through the deserted corridors silently. Draco steeled himself in an attempt to regain his composure. Doing his best to mute the little voice inside of him yelling at him to run, he tensed and tried again. 

"So, there's something I've been meaning to tell you." He winced as his first few words croaked out. She gave him an amused sideways glance.

"Ah, you've finally come to the conclusion that I was right about the centerpieces for the first two evenings. Can't say I didn't tell you so."

"Er, not exactly, no… I-"

"Wait, no," she cut him off, dramatic excitement edging her tone. "Don't tell me. You're going to ask McGonagall to give us a raise."

He managed a genuine laugh. "I wish, considering we make approximately zero an hour for all our hard work. Sadly, I'll have to disappoint you again because that's a no as well." She gave a small giggle and his confidence waned dangerously low again.

He felt his entire body flush with heat. The stairway leading down to the Slytherin common room was coming up quickly; he was running out of time. He stole a dangerous calculating glance over at her. Had he ever been this terrified? _Don't stop now. Just tell her how you feel. Don't be a coward_. Why was this so difficult? It couldn't possibly be worse than telling the dark Lord that he'd failed in his mission. With deep breath he stopped in the middle of the empty corridor. 

She turned to face him, eyeing him quizzically. It would take him too long to come up with something else, there was no going back. He was just going to do it…

"Alright, Granger, don't freak out." She gave him a confused look, as if wondering what he could possibly say to make her freak out. 

"I sort of like you…" He felt his cheeks flush to the deepest shade of scarlet he was sure they had ever been as an unrestrainable blush tingled to life upon them.

"A lot…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY THIS SETUP FEELS FAMILIAR. HRMMM, ALMOST LIKE I PULL THE SAME TYPE OF ENDING EVERY OTHER CHAPTER. Sorry for repetitiveness, not sorry for exercising my creative liberties to build suspense.
> 
> p.s. i like ur face :3


	23. H

Hermione was relishing the school year like she hadn't done in a very long time. It felt so good to finally have some emotional stability in her life. Whether she had been too busy worrying about her feelings for Ron, He Who Must Not Be Named, the lives of her friends, or all of those at once, not one of her years at Hogwarts had ever been as peaceful as she was now feeling and it felt immensely good being free to enjoy what she had suddenly realized was her last year at Hogwarts. 

It saddened her to think that in a few short months she'd have to leave the place that had always been like a second home to her. In fact, though she'd never admit it to anyone, she had actually given a second's thought to purposely failing her classes so she could come back for another year. This wasn't, of course, a real option, so when the unexpected thought had passed, she had been forced to accept that the end of the year would bring about a solemn farewell to her beloved school.

It would be a bittersweet goodbye. While she would be sad to leave, she couldn't deny that she was eagerly looking forward to stepping out into the wizarding adult world. Her plans surrounding S.P.E.W had never taken off during her time at Hogwarts, but her passion for house elves' wellbeing had not dwindled and Hermione was prepared to start working on it again the moment she graduated. Something inside her told her that it was time to act. If Draco's mind had changed on the whole pureblood fixation, surely there were others that were now renouncing the old beliefs. She felt strongly that the wizarding world was ready to start turning from the old ways, the ways that supported the ideals of dark wizards like Voldemort and Grindelwald and she was eager to help them do so.

It encouraged her to know that her headmistress seemed to feel the same way. From what she'd heard at the speech she'd attended at the Ministry, McGonagall was taking a similar approach towards unity, just ahead of what Hermione hoped to be the cusp of progress. Hogwarts was just the start. An important and strategic start. If the past few decades had proven anything, it was that change was necessary. And though Hermione readily acknowledged change as a slow-moving, uncontrollable, enigmatic force, she was greatly optimistic, for she believed that it was also imminent. 

If any of her plans would come to pass, however, she would, of course, need to make it through the school year first. Though her free time had been disburdened of a great deal of stress from her personal life, it remained limited. As each day passed, she was increasingly aware of her N.E.W.T.S drawing closer and closer and was doing all that she could to prepare. She followed the study guides she had drawn up near-religiously, pouring over books and writing till her wrist ached but had a great deal to show for the effort, managing to start her second read-through of her long list of reading materials and keeping ahead of schedule in her classes. 

She still set aside meager amounts of time here and there for non-academic activities, taking a page from the notes of her third year self. Working too much was not only very much a thing, but was also incredibly unwise and unproductive long-term. One of these instances was when she went to support Ginny and, in extension, the entire Gryffindor quidditch team at a match against Hufflepuff. Hermione had never had any real interest in quidditch, yet in all her years at Hogwarts, she always made time to attend matches or practices if her friends were playing. 

It was an exciting match from start to finish. Ginny continually amazed with how well she was handling the team. And even without Harry as the team's seeker, the fourth year Gryffindor that had replaced him was doing a decent job in his stead. Hermione suspected that Ginny was to thank for that. She was unreasonably skilled in just about all of the team positions. 

The match ended when Gryffindor's seeker caught the snitch, making the score a total of 240 points to Hufflepuff's 70. After the game, Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor common room behind the wildly excited duo of Dean and Seamus, pride welling within her for Ginny's sake and she couldn't help but smile. Once the team had returned to the common room, having donned fresh clothes and discarded their sweaty quidditch robes, Hermione even stayed for the celebration, ignoring the desk that beckoned her upstairs to be consumed by letters in number in favor of a few shots of firewhiskey and a pint of butterbeer.

They had every reason to celebrate. The only match left was against Slytherin, who had done so poorly in the past season that there was no outcome in which Gryffindor would not take the quidditch cup. To place third, a win by nearly a thousand points was necessary, a sum they hadn't come close to in all of their games combined. Gryffindor had secured the victory again, led there by Ginny's expert management. 

None of the Hufflepuffs seemed particularly happy about this outcome, but no one took it worse than the McMillan triplets. In the week following the quidditch match, the trio did everything except launch an attack on the Gryffindor common room. A good number of students ended up in the hospital wing with the symptoms of any number of the ailments caused by treats from the Weasley's skiving snackboxes, others had been jinxed or hexed, yet the great multitude of those affected had found firecrackers hiding somewhere in their robes. The three young Hufflepuffs seemed to have developed a signature brand of chaos.

Hermione had been keeping her guard up since the attacks on her house had started, checking her robes every morning and evening, just in case. Sure enough, later that week she was targeted, but not in the way she had expected. She and Draco were getting ready to head off to the library after meeting in the entrance hall following their lunch period when a strange sound came from above them. Hermione looked up just in time to see a massive brown-green blob plummeting from a staircase above them and managed to throw her herself out of the way just in time. Draco had not been so fortunate and yelled as the strange substance covered him in slimy goo. 

She heard him utter a few choice curses and then shout up towards the snickering above them. "Thirty points from Hufflepuff! You're going to regret that you little prats!" 

Hermione suppressed a laugh. Then the smell hit her. She immediately pulled her robes up over her nose in an attempt to mask the eye-watering odor wafting over to her. He gave her a disdainful look. 

"Just my luck, huh? Ten galleons says they were actually aiming for you." She knew he was almost certainly right. Other than their love of chaos, the triplets didn't have a motive for pranking Slytherins, as Hufflepuff had steamrolled them in quidditch not two weeks prior.

"What even is this awful stuff?" he said, gagging as he raised his arm to get a closer look.

"From the smell of it, I'd say it looks like they've successfully managed to infuse flobberworm mucus with dungbombs," she said in a muffled voice from behind her robes.

"How do the little gits come up with this sort of rubbish anyways?" he growled savagely as he began tearing off his outer robes. Hermione shrugged helplessly and drew out her wand. 

"Don't worry, I'll have it gone in a second." _Tergeo._ The thick greenish mucus began to siphon off of him and into the tip of her wand. 

Though his clothes were now clear of the horrid substance, the smell did not subside. 

"Oh for heaven's sakes," Draco said impatiently. "Don't tell me…" his voice dropped off. It was too late to stop him by the time she realized what he was doing.

"Draco! What on earth?" she cried as he removed his white button-up shirt and tossed it aside. She looked away, slightly embarrassed at the sight of him standing half-naked in the middle of the entrance hall.

He cursed loudly. "The smell won't go away!"

"Well then we'd best go see Madame Pomfrey." She spoke hurriedly in hopes of discouraging him from removing any more pieces of clothing. While her head was still turned away, she heard him snicker.

"What is it Granger? Is my glorious body too much for you to handle?"

"Hardly," she shot back at him, willing herself to make eye contact. "If anything, you make the smell worse." She made a fake gagging face and felt smug when she saw his smirk fade. It was always wonderful when the opportunity to perforate his overly-engorged ego arose.

"Now come on and put your clothes back on. We should take you up to the hospital wing."

Before looking away, she stole an inadvertent glance down his figure. She would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she was at least a little impressed by what she saw. Her eyes darted over his pale toned chest and down his slim torso to rest on a faintly chiseled abdomen.

 _Well, if I'd known he'd been hiding a body like that under his school robes, I'd have given him a drunken kiss a lot sooner._ The thought came out of nowhere and she immediately snapped her eyes away as Draco began to redress, pulling herself out of a momentary stupor. 

Hermione scolded herself for the unwarranted thought. Their unfortunate kiss was hardly something joke-worthy, given the disastrous outcome it had produced when she'd been forced to tell Ron about it. She truly had no desire to think of him in that sort of way anyways. He was a colleague, albeit, a highly entertaining colleague, but she viewed that as a well-deserved bonus given all she'd had to put up with from him. It was one thing to get along with him, it was entirely another to actually like him. She was still convinced that the only person he really loved was himself. 

Most wouldn't deny that he was handsome and even she couldn't turn up her nose, try as though she might. His strong jawline and startling grey eyes tripped her up nearly every time. She'd considered herself immune to his draw over the years, able to fight off the allurement of his devilish charm and good-looks with the ever constant flow of rubbish from his mouth. As far as Hermione was concerned, being a prick was one of the greatest turn offs. Any and all "crushes" had never gone beyond "You're pretty, but you're an absolute twat, so I don't _really_ like you." Finding someone attractive and wanting to be around them were two entirely different things, she had discovered. Besides, she had found it far too easy to hate someone who loathed her equally in return for her to ever have let her imagination run wild. 

Once Draco had re-garbed, they made their way easily through the corridors up towards the Hospital ward. The smell that wafted off Draco repelled any and all students they came across, making their journey quick and easy. She walked a few steps in front of him the entire way there in hopes of staying ahead of the scent as he shuffled miserably behind her. 

Unsurprisingly, Madame Pomfrey knew just what to do and in no time was whisking him off to soak in a bath of a strange amber colored liquid similar to honey except that it smelled, ironically, little better than he did. Hermione informed him she'd be waiting for him in the library, and promptly left to get started on her work. 

The pair of them were spending an awful lot of time together outside of school both intentionally and unintentionally. Whether they were working together on their head duties or separately on homework, both could almost always be found in the prefects' study room. And often times the two activities overlapped, like when they would get together to plan and take "study breaks" every so often. Study breaks, ironically, were not breaks from studying. On the contrary, they were periods taken aside from head boy and girl work to complete homework or revise. 

When the time came for actual breaks, they would often wander down to their meals together, bantering back and forth as a means of entertainment. On long evenings they would pack up and head back together until the time came for them to part ways and head off to their separate dormitories.

And that's how she and Draco ended up as they did that evening: standing face to face in the corridor on their way back to their dormitories after a long day of work. She looked at him oddly as he fidgeted uncomfortably in front of her, seemingly struggling to get whatever words he had to say out of his mouth. 

When he did, she first thought she hadn't heard him properly. But as her brain began to register his words, all logic was thrown out the nearby window as she grappled helplessly to find a meaning for the most baffling thing she'd ever heard come from his mouth. 

"I sort of like you… a lot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m SORRY! So, I know what you're thinking and I have no answer for you because I ask myself the same question daily. Y am i liek this? ;-; 
> 
> Guaranteed it's not actually the meanest double cliffhanger in history, but it might be pretty close and I'm sorry again BUT I CAN'T HELP MYSELF. With patience, all will be resolved soon!
> 
> Also, I almost didn't include that whole scene where Hermione is ogling over Draco's body, but it’s a little parody I wrote to make fun of the whole "so that's what Granger was hiding under her robes" cliché, so hopefully it made you chuckle or idk, grunt in approval. ??? can u tell i know nothing about human beings?? 
> 
> Thx 4 reading ur way thru this special, 144p edition of andromedellla's author's note and 4 the support of my story. Ur all gr8.


	24. H

_Don't freak out?!_ How _exactly_ was she supposed to do anything but? Her childhood bully, Ice Prince of Slytherin, and former chief of the anti-muggle-born committee had just expressed his undying love for her or some sort of sadistic nonsense, and she was supposed to remain _calm?_ Hermione's thoughts raced as she searched for a logical explanation for what was, decidedly, the most absurd thing to ever be uttered from Draco Malfoy's lips. The only reason she could come up with for words like those, was for humor. Surely it was all some sort of joke.

"Yes, Ha Ha! Very funny, Malfoy. Good try but the gag's up. Where is everybody? Are they hiding in here?" She approached a closed classroom door. "You can come out everyone!"

"No, Granger I'm serious." She stopped in her tracks and spun around to face him. She was surprised to find his expression adamant.

"You're serious," she said with an equally skeptical tone and look. 

"Dead." 

Silence hung between her for a few moments as she stared him down, daring him to keep up his act. When the burst of laughter didn't come and she noticed the sincerity in his eyes, reality set in hard.

"Oh," she whispered. Her skin tingled as a deep blush spread across her cheeks. The tension in the air was palpable between them. 

Her head was spinning. She was confused again as the gears in her head spun to process the information. Draco Malfoy had feelings for her? A million questions formed, clouding her mind-space. She'd never allowed herself to think about him in that way before. Not when he'd been such a prick in the past… but, it seemed, not so anymore.

She knew he had changed. The last few weeks had proven little if not this. She saw it in the way he carried himself and in his eyes that now reflected lightheartedness instead of hostility. Not once this year had she regretted her decision to grant him forgiveness for he had yet to let her down. 

Still, his confession didn't make sense. It was simply impossible. Why would he take an interest in her? She was so ordinary. The book-worm whose face would sooner be smudged with ink than painted with blush or lipstick. The girl who carried books instead of handbags. Boys like Malfoy didn't fall for girls like her. 

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered feebly, mercifully interrupting her stupor. "I just had to get it off my chest. I know it's stupid, after all I've done to you. And I never expected you to feel the same way. I can't describe it, I couldn't explain why, but I just had to tell you." 

"Oh no. No. You don't have to be sorry!" she said hurriedly. "It's just-" she paused, grasping for any coherent sentence to form from all the questions she wanted to ask him.

"Are you sure?" she asked finally. Immediately she felt stupid. If she could have, she would have kicked herself. That was the best she could come up with?

"More sure than I've been about anything." His expression was serious as he gazed upon her steadily. "I've known since first year that you were someone extraordinary, I just refused to acknowledge it. I remember spending nearly the whole summer break after first year talking about you to my father. But back then, I was spoiled and impressionable. I took my father's word as law and believed him when he said you were scum." He dropped his gaze momentarily. 

"But young Draco was stupid not to realize that _you_ were the one that was way out of _his_ league." Her blush deepened, setting her skin afire and spreading to the tip of her nose. 

"I was a goner from the beginning, but I distinctly remember the first time I realized how much I liked you. You probably won't believe me, but it was in third year when you punched me. You broke my nose. It was the first time anyone had ever stood up to me like that- physically I mean, and much less a girl. I was confounded. I couldn't figure out why you hadn't just pulled out your wand and hexed me with some spell we weren't supposed to know until O.W.L level. The more I considered you, the less you made sense. I'd always been told that it wasn’t possible for you to do the things you did, yet you kept doing them, proving me- hell, _proving everyone_ wrong. The impossibility of you drew me in. 

"I know I was an idiot back then. I've screwed up so many times I've lost count. But my biggest regret will remain that I didn't have the courage to listen to my feelings sooner. I was scared of how I felt, because everything they'd said told me it was wrong. So I buried my feelings and drove you away. I listened to all the wrong people telling me to do all the wrong things." His face was sullen and regretful. She watched as his right hand shifted uncomfortably over to his left forearm.

"I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I'm going to continue proving that I've changed, that I'm sorry for everything I've done. I'm tired of letting the mistakes I've made get in my way. But I just wanted you to know… wanted you to see…" he cut off. "I'll never hurt you the way I did ever again. You're so _good_ , Hermione. And I'll never forgive myself for trying to destroy that." His voice went gravelly with emotion and he dropped his gaze, looking away. 

Tears were now appearing in Hermione's eyes and slowly gathering until they burst and ran down her cheeks. 

She couldn't remember him ever calling her by her first name.

The silence between them ended abruptly when he cleared the emotion from his throat. "Sorry. You didn't need to know any of that, did you? Because it doesn't matter. Of course you don't feel the same way. You still love that Weasley and…" He seemed to realize he was beginning to ramble and stopped. "I… uh… well. Now you know then." He gave a stiff nod as if to excuse himself, shoved his hands into his pockets, and was turning to go when she reached out her hand and caught on a corner of his robes.

Silence hung between them for a moment as she paused, simply to hold him there.

"That's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me." She gripped the silky fabric between her fingers tightly as if doing so would force him to stay. His fragile eyes met her own trembling gaze. Here he stood before her again, so vulnerable and yet… There was strength there too. She studied him, as hundreds of thoughts swirled about in her mind. No one, not even Ron, had given her so much power over their heart. It was a strange and wonderful gift like she'd never received before and, despite their history, never once did she give any thought to squandering it. She looked at him with compassionate sorrow.

"Draco, I'm truly sorry, but I just don't feel the same way." Her heart leapt for him as she saw his silver eyes dull, fading to grey from the pain that wove its way through him. He turned to look away. "But that doesn't mean I can't," she said slowly, reaching to turn his face to hers once more. 

"I want _this_ ," she said firmly, cautiously gliding her hand down before gently spreading her fingers to rest her palm over his heart. "I want to know this heart. I've just been hurt…" she cut off, and turned away. "I can't keep giving myself away freely."

His own hand rose to meet hers and she felt him clutch it possessively against his chest. "Then don't." Her eyes rose cautiously back up to his.

His voice was deep and steady. "I'm ready to do whatever it takes. If I weren't, I wouldn't be standing here now." His eyes searched hers. "I don't want you because you're easy. I want you because you're so goddamn breathtakingly complex. Because you don't let anyone push you around or tell you who to be. I want you for you... 

"for your soul…" He took a cautious step forwards.

"for your mind…" Another step.

"for your eyes…" The distance between them closed.

As his voice trailed off, his eyes dropped to rest inches beneath her gaze. Tension hung in the closing margin of space between them, heated by the warmth radiating off their skin. 

She didn't flinch as his hand dropped hers and moved up to slowly guide her face toward his. Shivers of anticipation ran down her spine in the milliseconds before his warm lips melded tenderly with hers. Electricity rushed through her, sparking her senses ablaze and sending her heartbeat racing as he pushed his lips into hers and she melted against him. Her thoughts went fuzzy as the feeling of him pervaded her consciousness. All she wanted was more.

A blankness overcame her senses when she felt him pull away. His flushed face came into view when she opened her eyes to investigate. Warm hunger like she'd never felt stirred below her stomach, protesting the abandonment. She saw nervousness written in his features and immediately understood his hesitance. The last kiss they had shared hadn't ended well.

"I can't promise anything…" she spoke softly between heavy breaths. "But I need you to convince me. Help me find my feelings. Make me want you." He closed his eyes momentarily. When again they opened, the powerful gaze he fixed her in was nearly strong enough to persuade her on its own, his next words nearly convincing her entirely.

"I've waited for you before, and I'll do it again. I will prove to you how much you mean to me- as long as you let me- until the moment you send me away or the breath leaves my lungs. Whichever comes first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after!!! JK, we've got some more coming, but if I'm being honest with myself, those last few words from Draco sounded a heck of a lot like a marriage vow... _C'est la vie_. It is what it is.


	25. D

Draco had never felt giddy before. Giddiness was for little blonde schoolgirls with frilly pink skirts and pigtails. But he felt giddy as he made his way back to the Slytherin dormitory very early that Sunday morning. He allowed himself to live in the moment he had just experienced, his head spinning with lightheadedness and his body weightless with relief. He felt unstoppable. She hadn't said no. She had given him a chance. Some would have thought this detail insignificant, but to Draco, it was everything. 

He didn't stop smiling the entirety of his trek through the cold musty dungeons. 

He spotted her the minute he stepped into the nearly-deserted Slytherin common room. Daphne was sitting in her favorite lounger in the far corner of the room, obviously waiting for his return. Her lips stretched into a knowing smirk and she sat forward in anticipation when he entered. Though he figured the smile fixed to his own face revealed nearly everything she wanted to know, he still engaged in the pleasantries of polite conversation, or, rather, the asking of questions he already knew the answer to. 

"Have you been waiting for me all evening?" he asked curiously.

"Well, I did go to dinner" she replied innocently. He shook his head, still smiling.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that, Greengrass?" 

"Please," she scoffed in a bored tone. "Tell me something I don't know."

He made his way over to sit with her, slinging his school bag down next to the chair right across from her. She gave him a smug look. "Well, I wasn't originally going to rub it in, but I've changed my mind. _THIS piece of work_ was totally right, so ha!" Even if he could have stopped smiling, he wouldn't have. She had every reason to gloat and he had never been so immensely happy to be wrong. But Daphne dropped the self-righteous act almost instantly, evidently overcome with a hunger to hear the details of what had gone down.

"You _have_ to tell me everything."

Draco dreamily recounted the events that had taken place not twenty minutes prior. When he finished, he was smiling even wider than before. Simply recounting her fingers pressed against his heart and the gentle sensation of her lips on his made him soar all the higher. Daphne sat on the edge of her seat with a gleam in her eye.

"That is so wonderful Draco. Truly." She reached a hand over to rest supportively on his.

"I'm not sure I'll ever be able to wrap my mind around this," he admitted with a uncomplaining sigh. "I feel free Daphne. These past few years I've felt so trapped and now I have a chance to be who I want to be and love who I want to love… It's all so overwhelming and invigorating at the same time." 

In an instant, the happiness disappeared, his features shadowing as a dark though crossed his mind.

"What if I screw this up?"

Her face twisted with frustrated disapproval as she retracted her hand. "Merlin, Draco, can't you just be happy for one second? You've just been given a huge opportunity here with someone you didn't think would give you the time of day-"

"I know," he cut her off. "That's what I'm worried about. What if she suddenly decides I'm not worth her time anymore?"

"Well obviously you can't force her to love you. But honestly Draco, I don't think you need to. The way you talk about her and the look in you get in your eyes tells me that you really feel for her.

"Look, she asked you to convince her, right? Well, you've already got me persuaded, and I don't think for a second that she won't be convinced if you just continue to show her what's in your heart. Don't waste your time worrying about the things you have no control over. You focus on what you can do and how you can do it in the best way possible. If it's meant to be, it'll happen." 

Draco stared off to the side, soothed yet again by her words. He hated when she made so much sense, though by now he knew he should really expect it from her. After several quiet moments of thought he spoke again with the most sincerity he could muster.

"What would I do without you, Daphne? Thank you. Truly." He knew that he had just fallen grossly short of conveying how truly grateful he was to have her, but an understanding he couldn't explain seemed to pass between them nonetheless.

"You're welcome," she said gently. One of the most genuine smiles he'd ever seen formed on her face. After a long moment of silence, it twisted when she unabashedly remarked, "But I really did tell you so." His smile dropped long enough for him to shoot the most unconvincing of sneers in her direction before immediately reforming as if permanently affixed to his face. 

He headed back to his room for the evening and plopped down on his bed, his mind still racing with excitement. She hadn't said no. She'd said maybe. And that was better than anything he could have asked for. 

Draco didn't fall asleep quickly that evening but even after he did, the grin was still persisting upon his face when he woke the next morning.

Indeed, it didn't seem inclined to leave him at all. He caught himself grinning stupidly on numerous occasions throughout the week following, not that he was complaining, for he felt the happiest he'd been for a very long time. At one point, he wondered if his face might not become stuck with it forever, but excused the thought with the realization that it certainly wouldn't be the worst thing to happen. 

School seemed determined to ruin his new-found happiness one assignment at a time. He wondered why every teacher thought it necessary to pile on so much work before the end of the school year. He supposed that his professors were trying to cram every ounce of knowledge possible into their brains before the end of the years tests, but he wished they could lay off even just slightly. Obviously the exams weren't called nastily exhausting for no reason. Why not give them a little bit of a break?

He had also realized very suddenly, one morning at breakfast, that in just under five months he'd be saying goodbye to the castle's familiar stone walls. He was torn on the matter. Part of him was quite ready to get on with his life. He had already dedicated seven long years before the school decided to tax him an additional year beyond what was usual. Yet as much as he was ready to leave, he knew he would miss the castle and its many charms. Hogwarts had given him plenty of memories both good and bad, but the vast majority were positive.

He would miss his dormitory and the few people in it he still knew and liked. He would miss attending and playing in quidditch matches, though he hadn't done the latter since sixth year. He would miss his little spot next to the lake and school trips to Hogsmeade. The more he looked back on his time, the more upset he became. It saddened him to think of all the years he'd spent in the company of his old gang and how much time he'd wasted as a consequence. He'd spent far too much time worrying about other people, Potter being the most obvious example that came to mind, and hadn't spent enough time just enjoying his time for all it was worth. It was far too late by now.

When he imagined the dark halls of Malfoy Manor he would sadly wish that he could come back for another year. His future's uncertainty was a touchy subject which he tried as much as possible not to think on. He'd never felt a strong pull in any particular direction. As a child, he'd often dreamed of becoming a professional quidditch player, but in recent years the appeal had worn off. Daydreaming had been a luxury he couldn't afford. Since then, nothing had particularly caught his fancy. So even if he managed to pull top marks on his N.E.W.T.s, he didn't have any particular profession he wanted to use them in. 

Most of his stream of consciousness, when undistracted by school work, was taken up by thoughts of Hermione. He wondered what their relationship- could one even call it a relationship?- would look like five months down the road. Hermione Granger wasn't the type to be ill-prepared for anything. He expected that she knew exactly what she wanted to do with her life once she left. Was it even possible for him to become a part of whatever plans she had? He was far more inclined to think not, but refused to let the depressing idea get the better of him.

He hated the feeling of uncertainty, and so would do his best to keep the worrisome thoughts out of his immediate train of thought. Trying to do as Daphne had told him, he put his mind instead to thinking on the things he could do before the end of the year to boost his chances of somehow becoming a part of Hermione's future. 

Because the only thing that scared him more than the uncertainly of his life going forwards was that she wouldn't be a part of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADING INTO THE LAST 10 CHAPTER STRETCH HERE EVERYBODY (at least, I think so? It should be unless I make some wild adjustment later on, highly unlikely) So, in honor of that, I'd like to start by asking you all a question about this story every upload from here on out, that way I can get the answers to the specific things I'd like to know about my story. I'd love to hear from as many of you as possible so I can get all of your unique opinions.
> 
> Today's question is: "Who is your favorite character?" Elaboration is welcome and encouraged.
> 
> I realize that this is not exactly an ideal question. Obviously Hermione &/ Draco right? But I don't want limit your opinions to the secondary characters (as the cast list for this fic is rather small as is), otherwise I would have asked "favorite supporting character." If it's Hermione or Draco, that's wonderful. Hopefully that means I'm doing a good job. But if you really liked one of the secondary characters, I'd love to hear that as well. Obviously we've got ten chapters left, but pretty much all of our characters have been introduced and fleshed out somewhat thus far, so there shouldn't be too many suprises from here on out. Hopefully your favorite character will simply become even more your favorite character. 
> 
> For example, I would say that my favorite character is a toss-up between Ginny and Daphne, since I've very much enjoyed writing both of them. Whether a good or a bad thing, Daphne is written to be a lot like myself, so to me she's also a comfortable character since her quirks are my quirks, but I absolutely love short, fiery Ginny with an athletic build and an appetite to rival her brother's.


	26. H

Hermione meant everything she'd said. Every syllable. How could she resist words of such mysterious temptation and emotional depth? No one had ever said those kind of things to her before. She wanted to experience it- to know exactly what love like that felt like. But she needed things to go slowly. She wasn't quite ready to jump into another relationship, not just yet anyways. The wounds from her breakup with Ron would need some time to heal. 

As it ended up, the two of them would have had little to no time to meet up outside of school-related activities even if she had been immediately interested. The weeks before the first two parents' nights flew by and Hermione was glad when the Thursday night before the first dinner party rolled around. 

The work they'd put in during the two weeks prior hadn't been particularly difficult, since most of what was left to organize they finished with the help of the prefects team. Nevertheless, she was ready to be done with the whole thing. The sooner she could dedicate her time to purely focusing on her academics the better and McGonagall had already confirmed with both her and Draco that there were no other projects in the making for the year. When they were done with this one, they were done for good and Hermione could say definitively that she was ready to downgrade from two types of stress to one. School work would provide her with more than enough trouble to get her to the end of the school year. 

On the Friday of the first banquet, the prefects team spent the majority of their morning and afternoon between classes in the great hall, preparing it for the festivities it would soon play host to. The tall windows were draped with long glittering golden ribbons, the tables laden with silky off-white cloths and glittering centerpieces, and the sky enchanted to look like a meteor shower. The floating candles were transfigured into glowing orbs of warm white light and each of the house tables accented with long ornate table runners of the houses representative colors.

Hermione stepped back when they finished early Friday afternoon to admire their work. The room had an ethereal sort of feel as bright sunlight poured in from the tall windows. She imagined it would look even more dazzling that evening as the sun set and the enchanted meteor shower became more visible. 

She and Draco called the prefects together for a brief meeting following the room's completion, reminding them to look sharp and arrive in dress robes or evening wear before sending them off to get ready for the evening. 

At a meeting the weekend before, all of the prefects had drawn straws, after being given an opportunity to volunteer outright, to see who would get stuck on patrol duty while the rest dined in the great hall. Nearly everyone was required to take at least two of the six evenings off, except the lucky few that would have the opportunity to attend all six evenings if they drew well. 

From there, they'd assigned duties to each of those prefects who were attending each evening, specifically for the first evening, arranging for a total of twelve prefects to head down to Hogsmeade around five o'clock, eight of which would guide any parents that decided to arrive via a magical means of transport to meet with the four prefects accompanying Hagrid to see to the parents arriving via the Hogwarts Express. All would then sail across the lake, as was the custom for new students on their first evening at Hogwarts. 

Hermione knew why McGonagall had chosen it. Anyone who had experienced it would swear by it as the most breathtaking view of the castle.

The prefects that would be in attendance for each night were then divided up again into sets that would accompany several Hogwarts teachers in leading small groups of parents through a tour of the school after the banquet was through. At the end of the night, everyone would meet back in the great hall for drinks and dessert and to receive their favors, before the parents were escorted back out, this time, by carriage. 

Everything seemed to be in order. The only thing left for her to do was head back to her dormitory and get herself ready for the evening.

She adjusted her dress in front of the floor length mirror in her bedroom that evening in the minutes she had spare before she was due downstairs. She'd gotten it in London during a visit to Grimmauld place that summer. It was a tea-length dress of a pale icy blue shade. The neckline cut evenly across her chest and rested just above her shoulders so that it was only just not an off-shoulder gown. With it she had donned a simple pair of white heels. 

Ginny had helped wrangle her disobedient hair into a high bun where it, mercifully, was still holding. She prayed it would continue to do so for the rest of the evening. If it didn’t though, there was really nothing she could do about it. Her hair had always behaved like it had a mind of its own.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her gown and pivoted slightly to the left and right once more to check that everything was still as it should be. At the very last moment and as she was turning to leave, she felt a stray curl dance over her left cheek. Once it had been tucked safely behind her ear, she made her way downstairs.

When she arrived, she found that the great hall had not yet had an opportunity to welcome its guests for the evening. First year students were filing in through the doors and most of the teachers had already arrived, but there was no sign of any parents. Hermione made her way past the tables towards the front of the room. McGonagall had informed her that the head boy and girl would be sitting at the teacher's table for the evening.

McGonagall gave a curt smile in response to Hermione's greeting as she approached the front. Unaware of where she was supposed to go, Hermione politely asked if the older woman could direct her to where she would be sitting for the night. The headmistress gestured towards the center of the table and informed her that she and Draco would be sitting directly to her left for the evening. Hermione thanked her and made her way over to sit at the seat directly adjacent to the golden throne-like headmasters' chair. 

Moments before the parents came through the door, Draco arrived to claim the seat next to her as the students and professors of Hogwarts, at McGonagall's behest, moved to sit at the tables. Hagrid marched proudly through the great oak doors with a line of finely-dressed parents trailing in behind him. All looked about the great hall with awe as they entered, though Hermione suspected that muggles were probably more dazzled than their wizard counterparts. Most wizarding parents were likely to have attended Hogwarts in their school days. 

When the last of the couples had spotted their children and were readying themselves to sit down and the prefects that had acted as escorts had found their way to the prefects' dining table, McGonagall stood and motioned for silence. Hermione looked up and saw her wand press firmly against the exposed skin of her neck. Her voice sounded around the room, slightly amplified by what Hermione knew to be the sonorous charm.

"It is with great pleasure that I wish to welcome you to our school. First and foremost, I would like to take the time to thank each and every one of you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to join us this evening. Secondly, I would, in turn, like to thank you for each of the lovely students sitting in this room. I have said it before, and I will continue to say it: Hogwarts is wonderful school because of the many tremendous students that we are blessed to have attending here. Without your love and support, they would not be the remarkable young witches and wizards they are. We wish to use this night as an opportunity to honor your efforts as parents and introduce you to the wonderful school you so graciously allow your children to attend."

Hermione looked over at Draco as the headmistress launched into the next part of her speech. He was looking worriedly down at the table, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. His eyes darted upwards every now and then to gaze around the room. Hermione wondered for a moment why he was looking so nervous when a thought occurred to her. Though Draco himself was not a famous death eater or convicted criminal, his father was. Draco's pointed features, striking grey eyes and platinum hair betrayed a close resemblance to that of his father's. It wouldn't be hard for people to make the connection. She realized at once that he probably had good reason to be cautious and immediately felt sorry for him. 

She reached over, interrupting his busy fingers to grab hold of his right hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He looked up at her and gave a faint smile. Her attention turned back to the woman beside her, still holding the hand of the boy next to her. 

"This night would not have been possible without the work of a number of marvelous people. I would like to take a moment to appreciate them." She gestured to the prefects table. "Our prefects have lent us their time this evening to help us keep things running smoothly. Under the instruction of our head boy and girl, they also help put together the beautiful decorations you see around you." Applause sounded about the room with the occasional whoop and whistle. 

McGonagall nodded and spoke again. "To my left here are our head boy and girl. Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy are both seventh years from our Gryffindor and Slytherin houses, without whom our school could not function as smoothly as it does and whose tireless efforts have made everything about this evening possible. " 

McGonagall discretely motioned for them to stand and Hermione felt Draco tense up beside her as she gave his arm a firm pull before dropping his hand. She felt her face color as they stood and were met with equally energetic warm applause. When they had both returned to their seats, McGonagall continued.

"I have held your attention long enough. So, without further ado, let us begin our evening!" With a slightly over-exaggerated sweep of her wand, platters of food materialized down each of the tables. Quite a few excited gasps sounded throughout the room as the food magically appeared out of thin air. Hermione stopped mid chuckle when a twinge of sadness overcame her. Her parents would have quite enjoyed attending one of these parties if they were of any state of mind to do so. But they wouldn't remember anything about Hogwarts- not when they couldn't even remember anything about their own daughter.

She did her best to stow away the unpleasant thought and turned her attention to the glorious feast in front of her. Hogwarts food was always sublime, thanks to the tireless effort made by the elves in the kitchen, but the food made on holidays and special occasions was particularly heavenly. Hermione heaped her plate full of roast beef, mashed potatoes, cucumber salad, roast carrots and parsnips, and gravy before it became too full for anything else. 

As they ate, Hermione surveyed the selection of people dining with them for the evening. It was fairly easy to pick out the muggles- dressed in typical muggle evening wear- from the wizards clothed in fancy dress robes. She scanned the crowd, taking stock of the ratio, surprised to find quite a few more than she'd estimated seemed to be muggles. At least, she was judging by the clothes they wore. It was certainly possibly that an odd wizard here or there had come dressed in muggle attire, but that still left a good amount of non-magical parents in attendance for the evening. 

By chance she noticed the Hufflepuff triplets sitting with their parents as she scanned the crowd again. She did a double take, checking to make sure her eyes had not deceived her. The pair were unmistakably dressed in muggle clothing. Hermione was flummoxed. Surely they were merely dressing as muggles. They couldn't possibly have had three magical triplets… 

Hermione made move to gain McGonagall's attention and asked her curiously, "Mr. and Mrs. McMillan… they aren't muggles are they?"

"Why yes dear," the headmistress said plainly. Shock spread across Hermione's face and she shuddered to think of what home life at the McMillan household was like. 

Draco, who had apparently been listening in, muttered beside her, "Merlin, now that explains some things."

Hermione kicked at him from under the table in indignant disproval of his insinuation, looking over to see him smirking deviously at her in return. She gave him a threating scowl before rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to her food.

Dinner passed without incident and no sooner had the prefects begun leading parents off to tour about the castle than they were bidding their guests goodbye after a lovely dessert filled with joyous merriment. It seemed that everyone had been thoroughly enchanted by the evening. Hermione swelled with pride to know that she'd helped coordinate such a successful and enjoyable event.

After the excitement of the evening had died down, she and Draco found themselves looking out over the school's shadowed surroundings from the Astronomy tower after having wandered about the school aimlessly for a while, immersed in conversation. The moon was bright and full and the stars twinkled brilliantly above them. Hermione took a satisfying deep breath of the cool evening air and shivered. Draco seemed to take notice for he removed his jacket and offered it to her. She accepted it with a gracious smile and donned it over her bare shoulders. The warmth of Draco's body heat radiated inwards off the expensive silken interior and she felt as though she was being given a gentle hug.

She watched as he solemnly turned his attention outwards.

"Is everything okay, Draco?" He seemed startled by her question and looked at her with discomfort.

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine. It's just…" he paused as if debating whether or not to share whatever thought was pressing in his mind. "Bad memories… you know." His eyes darted to the side. Immediately she understood. 

"Oh my gosh, of course. I'm so sorry. We could leave-" 

"No. I'll be fine," he cut her off suddenly. She gave him a look of concerned skepticism. "No, really, I'm okay. It's just another ghost I have to face."

She regarded him with a worried expression but relaxed some when he remarked casually, "It's quite a beautiful night."

"Yes it is," she breathed, staring out over the darkened landscape sprawling far beneath them.

"But not quite as beautiful as you, I think," he said confidently.

Hermione felt her face flush and she shifted her feet nervously beneath her. Her eyes wandered over his shadowed features. If possible, they looked even sharper in the moonlight. As she stole a glance downwards, she couldn't help but notice that both his shirt and trousers were well-tailored in an extremely flattering, form-fitting way.

"You clean up pretty well yourself, Malfoy."

She could almost feel the devilish smirk that broke across his face.

"Yeah, I do look rather good, don't I?" he offered smugly. A sound somewhere between a snort and a choking animal escaped her.

"I'll take that as a definite yes."

At a loss for words, she heaved a dramatic sigh and shook her head. The pale light around them just barely exposed his smile and, as usual, she couldn't help but grin in spite of herself. She turned away, hoping that he hadn't noticed.

As they stood in silence, a question that had been lingering in the back of her mind suddenly pressed forwards. Everything seemed to be moving so fast, much faster than she would have ever thought it would, and she wanted to avoid making the same mistakes of the past. She liked him. Godric, she liked him so much. Everything was going so well, so she hated to bring reality back into it all, but if she were to be with him, she needed to know. 

"Draco?"

He looked over at her inquisitively. "Yes?"

"I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure how to ask you this, but when I was going over our conversation from the other day, something rather odd occurred to me," she paused to gather her thoughts and noticed a shadow of what looked like worry cross his features. "You said that you realized you liked me in third year. But then, if I understand correctly, you didn't start embracing your feelings until sometime this year?"

His face fell. "You don't believe me."

"No. No, that's not the case at all," she rushed to correct him. "I guess I was just wondering how we would deal with… all…" she struggled, searching for a decent word, "this going forward. This being us- you, me. You're a pureblood and I'm a muggle born. I'm not under the delusion that prejudice has been eradicated. Mercifully, its decreased since the war ended, but I know it's not gone. It probably never will be. So even though things are different now than when you first took a liking to me, I'm worried that it still won't be any easier. You say you want to be with me, but do you know what that entails? I mean, certainly your parents won't-"

"I don't care what they think," he snapped forcefully, stunning her into silence. "I've spent my entire life worrying about what they think, what everybody else thinks, and I'm done. Because I've tried too hard to gratify too many and all its done is tear me apart. I only care about what you think of me and what I think of myself. That's all I need to worry about. Can I live with what I've done and am I doing everything possible to be a man worthy of your affections? Those are the only two frame of references I need." He turned his serious expression up to the starry sky above.

"I can say fairly confidently now that, yes, I can live with my past. I've been trying hard to come to terms with it. It's not something I can change, so I've done the only thing I can: learn to accept it." He paused and furrowed his brow before beginning again. "As for the second question, all I can do is try. One day at a time, at every opportunity I'm given." 

His eyes turned to search hers and neither of them spoke for several moments as a look of determination settled over his features. "I'm not scared of being with you, Hermione. I'm scared of being without you." 

Tense silence followed as his declaration hung between them in the cold night air. It was broken when Draco sighed. "Honestly, I hate to give you more reasons to reject me, but you should probably be more worried about what being with me entails." Her eyes flickered down to a slight motion beside him. He had pressed his left forearm in against his side. 

"Not everyone is so willing to forgive as you are."

Sadness weighed upon her heart as he turned a bitterness worn face away from her. His shoulders hunched as his arms spread out along the tower's balustrade and he hung his head. Without even a moment's thought she was beside him, wrapping comforting arms around him and laying her head just below his shoulder. 

"I'm not scared," she whispered. "I'm not scared of being with you."

He straightened in her embrace and turned to face her directly.

The flash of moonlight in delicate silver eyes was the last thing she saw before her own eyes closed and she inclined her head towards his, capturing his lips with hers. A sense of urgency pulled in her gut as the warm hunger quickly returned when lips with the same urgency moved against hers. It felt like firecrackers had been set off in her blood stream. She pulled him desperately nearer, pressing their bodies together when the feeling of a dire need to be close to him consumed her. A completeness filled her, as they fit together perfectly, that banished all worry and doubt from her mind and her body seemed to lighten as a tingling sensation rushed down through her. 

She kissed him with her entire being, tossing all inhibition into the cool breeze that wove its way through the narrowing gaps between them, the faint thumping of their hearts beating in time together sounding in the background of her mind as a single coherent thought formed. 

_He feels like home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week my question is less about my story, though it is about Draco, and more for the sake of my own curiosity.
> 
> "What's your ideal Draco temperament?"
> 
> The feedback I've received thus far has been divided, some wishing that Draco wasn't as soft as he appears and others finding it mildly refreshing. While I would never want a truly "soft" Draco, I would like to defend my decisions with him. Some may call the uncertainty he's displayed here ooc, but I would say that he's just navigating completely unfamiliar territory in a relationship of a very fragile nature and realizes the importance of treading carefully. Speaking without a filter had obviously done little else than drive her away in their younger years, so it doesn't make much sense that he'd be constantly railing against her, even during that brief period when he's still sorting out his feelings for her. Also, for me, Hermione is far too smart to give anyone that mistreats her the time of day and so cruel or harsh Draco in fanfictions usually don't do it for me personally. Petty rivalries, good-natured insults, and lots of passive-aggressive sarcasm? Yes please. Rude or bigoted comments and constant arguing? That's a no from me. So, yes, I love me all the banter and sarcasm, and while I'll admit to the struggle of creating such instances here, that's ultimately what my aim was/is to provide. That they can take good-natured shots at each other without being at each others throats or dredging up the nastiness of their old rivalry. 
> 
> TL;DR I expect my ideal Draco temperament is softer than most other people's, but who knows.


	27. D

Her lips were just as sweet and enticing as he remembered them being, only this time they weren't nearly so gentle. Something about the way they collided passionately with his sparked a brave sort of recklessness within him. Raw energy pulsed through his veins and he felt in that moment as though he could do anything. His hand drifted gently along her jawline until it nestled seamlessly against the crook of her neck, just below her ear. Her arms inched around his back to pull him firmly into her. 

She was utterly perfect, from the overwhelming draw of her lush lips, to the way her body molded flush against his, to the intoxicating scent that fluttered over on the curled wisps of hair to caress his neck in the cool breeze. Through the hazy pervasion of her in his mind, a strange sensation overcame him suddenly. It felt for a moment as if a great shifting of forces had happened all at once. As if a small block had been dropped into place and everything around it had finally become relevant and clear. 

Curious hands aimlessly explored landscapes of clothed skin while their lips mingled languidly between sparse, rushed breaths. Time seemed to lose its meaning as they stood entwined in the pale light of the moon. All he knew was her: past, present, and future. 

The feeling did not cease it's hold in his mind until long after their physical contact had broken. He lay that night staring up into the green curtains that draped his lone four-poster bed, wholly unable and unwilling to turn his thoughts away from her.

Next morning, Draco awoke after a restful night of sleep feeling the most content he had done in a long time. He walked the entire day with a spring in his step, confidence radiating from the grin he wore proudly. Daphne was quick to pick up on his mood and winked at him knowingly when he strode into the great hall for breakfast. 

In the weeks following, he found it increasingly more difficult to focus in his classes with Hermione sitting across the room from him. She caught him several afternoons later in potions, staring over at her, and returned an expression that read "Shouldn't you be focusing on your work?" to which he could only smile and wish that her suggestion was as easy as it sounded. 

She later scolded him for it, saying "You really should be focusing on our school work. N.E.W.Ts are just around the corner after all. They'll be expecting us to be prepared…"

He was used to her telling him off by now, though somehow it hadn't taken a lot of effort to adapt on his part. She had the miraculous, if not slightly infuriating, predisposition to being inerrant nearly a hundred percent of the time. He often thought that he liked getting told off slightly more than he ought to. And whenever she won an argument, which, in all honesty, was at least a solid three-quarters of the time, it gave him a strange sense of pride. 

More than anything, he loved it when she used big words, though he really just liked to watch her talk in general. Her expressions were always animated, he could almost see the gears whirring madly about in her brain when she thought really hard about something, and, when she was really worked up, an almost intimidating amount of passion would make itself apparent in her eyes.

In short, she was the antithesis of boring and he couldn't have loved her more for it. 

Later that week, they were sitting together at his favorite spot by the lake. It was his first time taking her there. He had snuck her a note in potions class earlier in the day, asking if it were something she were interested in seeing, to which she had responded with an enthusiastic nod in his direction. 

As it turned out, he couldn't have picked a more pleasant day to show her. They made their way down across the Hogwarts ground on a particularly lovely spring afternoon. The calm breeze and the copious greenery around them succeeded in making the secluded little area feel even more charming than usual.

"I sure am going to miss this place," she said with a forlorn sigh as they sat looking out over the lake. 

"Speaking of which," he started quizzically, plucking a blade of grass, "Have you any idea what you'll do once we're out of here?" 

"Actually, yes. It's something I've been wanting to do ever since fourth year." He cocked an eyebrow and looked at her with interest, prodding her to continue. "Fourth year I started a club, or rather like an organization, sort of, named S.P.E.W." 

His expression turned to that of a slightly-judgmental, amused smile. "Spew?"

"No," she said exasperatedly. "Why does everyone say that? It's S.P.E.W."

"Maybe because that's what it spells?" he offered. She scowled at him, clearly unamused at his unhelpful suggestion. "Alright, alright, I get it. S.P.E.W it is then." She scowled some more. Draco cleared his throat. "Please… um, continue."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyways. As I was saying, _S.P.E.W_ ," she stressed each letter, "is an organization. The letters stand for Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. When I started it, I had this sort of persisting delusion that I was going to single handedly free all of the house elves of the wizarding world and get them the things they deserved like, wages, proper treatment, and everything that goes with it. Well, I won't go into detail but it never came to much. The only people I managed to bully into joining up were Harry, Ron, and Neville and eventually it just sort of went by the wayside."

"So, let me get this straight," he interrupted with a confused look. "You wanted to free all the house elves," she nodded, "even though that's pretty much the worst thing that you could do to them? You know they really like what they do, right?"

"You see, that's where you're wrong. I mean it's not just you. Almost everyone I've talked to really. But let me clarify first that, no, I don't want to free them all anymore. I can respect that they're attached to their families and proud in their work. However, I've done quite a bit of reading on the matter and I've found out some very curious things about the history of house elves in the many texts I've consulted. 

"House elves certainly aren't a recent commodity. As a pureblood I'm sure you're well aware that most house elves nowadays are ones that are basically a familial inheritance that've been passed down generation to generation with limited instances of breeding here and there. There's almost no market for buying and selling house elves anymore. But several hundred years ago there was, and quite a substantial one at that. This was back when wizards had just gotten the idea to domesticize them.

"House elves haven't always been human caretakers, after all. They were natural beings that once used to live in small colonies in wooded areas. For years their relationship with wizards was one marked by benevolence and friendliness. Not many know this, but elves were the ones that taught us a great deal of what we know about healing magic. In any case, the wizards dealing with them started to get greedy. They began demanding more and more from the elves, and because of their generous nature, the elves complied. Though none of the texts I've read marked a clear point at which it occurred, somewhere along the way, people got the idea to harness their subservient nature and have them start working in wizarding households. 

"But house elves have never been paid for their work. From the start wizards simply enslaved them, binding them with magic akin to the imperius curse to serve for life without complaint. Their species became a hunted one, forced to live out their lives in secret in the last few places they remained hidden, which is why there are no more elf colonies in the wild anymore. Since then, there have only been more injustices done against their kind. At one point in history, they were even bred selectively, like dogs, in order to produce ones that were more submissive in nature. They've been mistreated and taken advantage of for far too long and I think it's about time that someone took a stand for them since they're evidently too humble to take it for themselves." 

When she had finished, they sat quietly for a while. Draco watched as the fire of passion flickered in her eyes.

"Huh," he finally said quietly. His eyebrows were still knit tightly from listening. "I never knew all that about them. That's really… awful."

"Nobody does. And that's because it's simply been swept under the rug for centuries. But it's time for that to change. And that's what S.P.E.W is about really. It's in the name: promotion of elfish welfare."

"Alright," he said suddenly. "How do I sign up?"

"Pardon?" she replied, evidently taken off guard.

"Where do I sign, get my little badge and all that stuff? I'm all for it. I think what you're doing is absolutely brilliant." She stared at him for a few moments, mouth agape, in obvious disbelief. 

"Er, I…" Hermione stuttered and shifted uncomfortably. " _You_ want to join S.P.E.W?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Well, nothing. I mean, that's fine, I guess. It's not exactly an official organization or anything… but I suppose I can let you know when I get serious about it again. Truth be told, I'm waiting until I manage to secure a job at the ministry." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her looking curiously at him.

"Ah, so that's what you've got planned for all those N.E.W.T.S you're going to get." He turned a confident smile in her direction. 

"I don't know about that," she said humbly.

"Please. Don't insult the rest of us, Granger. If you don't get Outstanding on every one of them, then the rest of us are royally buggered."

They sat in silence, staring off over the still, mirror-like surface of the lake. He relished in the flustered look he'd caused to appear on her face and smiling to himself smugly. 

There was simply nothing he loved more than seeing her when she got to a threshold of befuddlement so profound that her ability speak or even form coherent thoughts almost disappeared. Her lips would pout slightly and her eyebrows would tighten over her intense eyes just such that she would look equal parts put-off and confused. Successfully driving her to that point gave him a tremendously rewarding sense of satisfaction akin almost to the rush of catching the snitch in a game of quidditch. 

Yet, as they walked back to the castle sometime later, chatting casually, it was he who became befuddled when she surprised him with a question that took him quite off guard.

"Do we class this as our first date, then?" 

A slight warmth rose to his cheeks. He hadn't really thought about it. Had she been expecting it to be? His thoughts skipped back over the past hour. He smiled though and said slyly, "I guess it depends… did you enjoy it?"

A promising grin spread over her face. "Very much so." She then began more dubiously, "I don't know… I think I could get used to this whole spending time together thing." 

A wide grin spread across his own face. "You know what? I think I could too." 

Their eyes met for a brief moment before each laughed at the other and they continued their trek back up to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just tossing in my house elf lore headcanon, don't mind me. 
> 
> I know I said I'd do 10 questions, but I think I might have to recant that statement. You guys get a break this week. There's some questions I can't ask yet because we still have stuff waiting to happen, so maybe next week. Thanks to all who have answered for the previous ones so far!


	28. H

Everything in Hermione's life was growing exponentially more difficult. Balancing a new relationship- one she wasn't necessarily one-hundred percent sold on yet- against a steadily increasing work load was taking a toll on her. For the first time since she'd set foot in the castle's great stone interior, she wasn't two weeks ahead. It was truly an odd feeling.

Against what she would have considered, in hindsight, her better judgement, she had decided to start putting an effort into spending time getting to know the new and improved Draco Malfoy and had remembered, just slightly too late, why exactly she had been so keen to avoid relationships whilst still in school. 

It wasn't that she wasn't happy. Quite the contrary in fact. She was more happy around him than she could remember being for quite some time. The fact remained though, that while she was normally quite good at keeping on top of her school work, a certain platinum-haired distraction was making it more difficult by the day. Being the diligent student she was, she was finding it tedious to come to terms with the fact that the time between the present and the end of the year exams was dwindling quickly and yet she was continuing to sacrifice large portions of her study time in favor of spending time with him. 

On the bright side, she'd become quite adept at performing the disillusionment charm. They both had. As a quintessential instrument to carrying out a secret relationship, each had grown accustomed to casting it as the need for it arose, usually at least twice a day. Though quite useful overall, it hadn't been a skill she's needed previously, as she, Ron, and Harry had always managed with the latter's cloak of invisibility. 

She and Draco would use the spell as a way to get away from school and meet without anyone knowing. They'd had some close calls though, strangely, sneaking out of their dormitories to meet in secret wasn't their greatest risk.

Hermione would often scold Draco for risking long glances at her during school hours despite the fact that she was equally as guilty of the same thing, except, fortunately, he just hadn't noticed. Of course, she couldn't blame him. Now that they were together, it seemed so counterintuitive to spend so much of their class time apart, that she occasionally wondered why they didn't just go ahead and make their relationship known. But she knew they couldn't. 

It wasn't that she was scared of having people find out… except that she was absolutely terrified of having people find out.

Draco had been pushing for a reveal from the beginning, insisting that the gossip would make its rounds quickly and soon they'd be left alone to enjoy each other's company in peace; that they were only postponing the inevitable because no serious relationship could be carried on without people eventually finding out. And while she knew this to be mostly true, she fought back with the argument that he didn't have anyone to disappoint, assuming that Hogwarts gossip wouldn't reach the ears of his parents, because Daphne already knew and no one else cared about who he dated. 

Things were different for her. She had a whole dormitory of people that would ask a whole lot of uncomfortable questions if word ever got out that she was dating both a former bully and death-eater. And what if, for example, word came to Harry or Ron's ears? Would one or both of them show up, wands out, to hex Malfoy to the next century? 

Of course, she knew she was probably overanalysing the whole situation. But she needed it to be kept secret until she could figure out a way to tell anyone without it causing a national crisis. Meaning, it seemed, that the whole affair would be kept secret for the foreseeable future.

In all truthfulness, she was growing tired of keeping their relationship a secret. Trying to spend time together without getting caught was an exceptionally tedious affair.

Their most recent Hogsmeade weekend, for instance, had been quite interesting. Hermione, having played one too many games of wizarding chess with Ron in her years at Hogwarts, had won the game which would determine who got to stay visible and who didn't and so was allowed to walk freely and easily down to the village on the bright spring afternoon. Draco, having lost the game, had been forced to find a more discreet way of travelling down and had resorted to taking the long way around and meeting her there in his disillusioned state. Though initially quite smug about her victory, Hermione soon learned, however, that being the visible counterpart had its tradeoffs as well. 

She sat with an invisible Draco at a booth in the Three Broomsticks sipping casually on her butterbeer between her muffliato-disguised conversing with a seemingly empty bench and realized very quickly that any person looking over at her would think her a madwoman, sitting all alone and talking to herself. On top of that, she was forced to spare Draco getting sat upon on no less than three separate occasions that afternoon by Ginny, Dean, and Parvati, who had all come calling to ask if she desired any company, sitting alone on such a lovely day. 

She politely declined each in turn, insisting that she wasn't feeling well or was trying to revise upon Transfigurations concepts quietly by herself. Fortunately, each left her be, and she was not forced to explain why any one of them had sat upon an invisible body instead of an empty seat- or worse- whom the invisible body belonged to.

It didn't take long for them to realize that trying to meet up in public, however discreetly, simply didn't have the intended romantic effect and they soon left the village, hand-in-hand, Draco still disillusioned, to walk about the grounds. 

So, in some respects, she wasn't exceptionally upset when their relationship was discovered nearly a week later. At least, not after the complete and utter mortification of it all wore off. 

It happened for the most stupid, irresponsibly simple reason. They were careless. They got comfortable and they got careless.

Of all the people to catch them, Ginny was, in some respects, one of the least heinous options. She was, however, the most impetuous and unpredictable. 

Hermione and Draco had each found themselves preoccupied with the exploration of the other's lips one afternoon amidst the dull monotony that was studying for the endless amount of homework and tests obligatory of the typical seventh year student. Captivation, alas, had not allowed for the proper consideration of the potential consequences of interacting in such ways in settings which were not entirely private and, unfortunately for them, the usually deserted prefect's study room permitted another student's entry in the middle of a particularly heated scattering of textbooks and parchment across their table top. 

Upon her entrance and the discovery of the scene before her, Ginny cried out and immediately jumped into action. Dropping her textbooks, she rushed over and threw her hands between the head boy and girl, throwing the former off the latter and pinning him squarely against the nearest wall. 

Still in shock and recovering from her collision with the floor, Hermione glanced over to see Ginny's wand pressed threateningly against Draco's neck, her elbow angled upwards into his sternum. The much shorter girl's expression was twisted in rage, in direct contrast to Draco's which was, almost certainly, that of pure terror. 

"You good for nothing, toad spawn-of-a slimy, cowardly git! I'll teach you to mess with Gryffindor again! No one attacks my friends and gets away with it!"

"Ginny, no!" Hermione jumped to her feet and sprang towards Ginny, but was immediately pushed backwards with a surprising amount of force for one so small. 

"Hermione, now is not the time to go soft on me! He was attacking you for gods' sakes. You need to learn to be more ruthless. It's not right for a Gryffindor to-"

"He wasn't attacking me Ginny!" Hermione's voice was tinged in desperation. Draco's eyes danced to a halt along with the wand whose path they were following as the owner's hand halted its haphazard flailing. 

"What do you mean he wasn't attacking you? When I walked in just now it bloody well looked like-"

"No. No, it wasn't anything like that." Blush was rising on Hermione's face and a nervous churn had come to life within her. "We were uh… we were… Well, you see…" 

But Hermione did not need to finished her explanation, for at that moment, realization seemed to dawn upon the redhead. 

"You don't mean… You wouldn't…" Ginny's eyes were narrowed as she looked from Hermione to Draco, then back again. Hermione's face was burning with color and she wished she knew how to evaporate, though she thought the look on Ginny's face could quite possibly do just that. 

"Hermione Jean Granger!" Draco sighed visibly with relief as the shorter girl, retracting the elbow restraining him against the wall, turned her attention, and wrath, towards Hermione. "You don't mean to tell me that I stumbled onto you snogging a _Slytherin?!_ This Slytherin," she jabbed the wand back in Draco's direction and Hermione thought perhaps she heard Draco whimper. "Draco Malfoy?!"

Hermione was wincing with every word. "Well… yes."

The taut silence that followed set her nerves on edge and her thoughts running rampant. Ginny's mouth was set grimly and her eyes narrowed in an expression that plainly read "How could you betray us in this way?" Hermione noticed that Draco's body, like hers, was tensed in anticipation of an explosive outburst.

But whatever the thoughts swarming inside Ginny's head were, they did not immediately make an appearance. No explosion came. Instead, Ginny drew Hermione aside and firmly gripped her shoulders, looking squarely into her eyes. 

"Hermione, I thought we were friends."

Unease squirmed in Hermione's stomach along with a growing weight of shame. Hermione could feel herself shrinking under what she took to be a judgmental stare. She hadn't meant to hurt anyone by keeping it a secret, but this was exactly why she hadn't wanted to publicize it in the first place. Disappointment was etched upon Ginny's face and with a huff, she rasped out in an exasperated whisper, "For Godric's sake, friends tell each other when they're spending their free time kissing hot blondes!" 

Shame then morphed instantly into confusion. What? What exactly was Ginny upset about? 

"Wait, but Ginny, what-"

The redhead huffed dramatically. "Hermione, what have I told you a million times?"

"That breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Hermione recited surely. Ginny glared at her.

"No, I meant besides that. Have I not always told you that you can tell me anything?"

Hermione looked at the ground. "Yes," she muttered ashamedly.

Ginny sighed. "I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed." She paused. "Do you not trust me?"

Hermione looked up urgently. "Oh no, Ginny! I do trust you. And I wanted to tell you but I didn't know how. It was easier to keep it a secret from everyone. Because I was so worried that people might get upset. I didn't want anyone to get hurt." Hermione looked down at the ground, feeling her eyes swimming threateningly. Ginny's arms wrapped around her middle.

"Oh, please don't cry. I don't want you to feel bad," then, pausing, "Okay, maybe a little bit. But only because I hope that next time you won't hesitate to come to me about these sorts of things. I mean, seriously, I could have given you loads of better snogging locations if I had just known. Honestly," she snorted. "Only you would like snogging in the library." 

Hermione laughed and wiped away a lone tear. "Hey, the study room isn't bad. It's just far less private than I originally thought," she said pointedly. In the corner Draco was mumbling and she caught the words " _Gryffindors_ ," " _girls_ ," and " _What did I tell her?_ "

Ginny turned to him then. "Don't think I'm done with you yet, Malfoy. We've got a lot to talk about. Namely where I'll stick my wand if I ever find out you've done anything to hurt her."

Draco looked surprisingly sober. "If I ever hurt her, I'll be sure to call on you after I've stuck it there myself." He looked at Hermione solemnly, who returned a slight smile.

Ginny grunted, evidently taken aback. "Mm, right. Well, very good then. In any case, if it's alright by you two, I've got some studying to do, so you can either join me or take your antics elsewhere." She moved to pick up her discarded books and Hermione stooped to help.

"Look, Ginny," Hermione broached seriously, gathering several pieces of scattered parchment, "You can't tell anyone."

"Don't worry, Hermione, your secret is safe with me." She gestured, indicating that her lips were closed. "My lips are sealed."

Yet, like every tidbit of information that was nobody's business, it travelled around the school like wildfire. Hermione didn't necessarily blame Ginny, as she wondered if she hadn't caught one of the Hogwarts ghosts snooping on several occasions, but fortunately, it became old news in a record-breaking about of time. As it turned out, Draco had been mostly right, though, of course, she never deigned to tell him so. In less time than either of them could have expected- almost two days by Hermione's estimation- the strange looks and hapless whispers ceased and they found themselves suddenly free to enjoy each other's company in public situations. 

It was a liberating sort of experience. Everyone was strangely _normal_ about their relationship. What had been sneaking glances at each other across the potions lab turned to holding hands next to each other as they sat at the same table. What had been disillusionment charms and muffliatos were now normal strolls throughout the castle and heated discourses at the lunch table. And as far as she could tell, no one shot them any rude glances or whispered about them behind their back. 

She could not have been more grateful to the students of Hogwarts. While she wasn't trying to read into it too much, taking Ginny's mum's advice of 'not looking a gift horse in the mouth,' she wondered if this reaction weren't the signs of a change in mindset. Nastier whispers had been shared about Harry in her younger years and much of what was said hadn't even been truthful. Perhaps it was premature to allow herself to be hopeful, but she desperately wanted it to mean that things had changed for the better. 

She herself knew that being with Draco carried so much meaning beyond just what she felt for him. It was forgiveness and redemption and a willingness to understand. And it was all she could hope that the people of the wizarding world were moving in the same direction, beyond the boundaries of their darkened past and out into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD THIS ACTUALLY TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG TO GET OUT. My sincerest apologies for the extra time between posts. It was just the last little bit of dialogue that I was struggling with. I'm crawling my way to the end of this fic even if it kills me. I. Will. Not. Leave. You. Hanging. Indefinitely. Or. Otherwise. But at the same time, I can't and won't promise how or when the updates come, but we're almost there!
> 
> Speaking of which, the question this week is "What is your favorite detail?"  
> And it's vague because it can literally be anything. Something I said about Hermione? Something I said about Draco? An overarching detail in the story? A little thing that happened somewhere? Literally anything that you were sat there reading and were like "yes. yes I like this." 
> 
> For me, if I didn't choose Ginny's relationship with food, it would definitely be the Hufflepuff triplets. I was like, is there anything better than triplets with an affinity for troublemaking being born to non-magical parents and being accepted to Hogwarts typically least-rowdy house? Probably not. Though I have to say, I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. MacMillan were incredibly relieved when September 1st rolled around and will be every year henceforth.


	29. D

Draco adjusted his tie in the mirror for what he hoped would be the second-to-last time that year. It was the evening of the sixth and seventh year parents' banquet and he could say definitively that he was quite ready to have his weekends free again. Not that spending hours putting up and taking down decorations wasn't absolutely invigorating, he simply had better uses for his time. 

Like working on his mountains of homework. Or spending time with his girlfriend. Or doing literally anything else. 

He checked his teeth before standing back to sweep a glance down the body reflecting in the mirror before him. A careful smoothing of his hair and a practiced smile later, he strode down to the great hall to attend the final banquet. 

The enticing smell of dinner met him as he exited the dungeon stairwell and wandered through the grand oak doors of the great hall.

Immediately he caught sight of her. She was impossible to miss.

He took her in as he walked swiftly towards her, hoping to surprise her from behind. The back of her dress was a delicious sort of dangerously-low that he couldn't stop drinking in with his eyes. But before he had a chance to jump up on her from behind, she turned and caught him mid-approach. He would have been more disappointed about his foiled plans if the front of her weren't just as enticing as her back. She beamed brightly as he came up beside her. 

"You look exquisite," he remarked.

"You think?" she asked, a tone of uncertainty in her voice. "I don't know, I think the back might be a bit low-"

"It's perfect. You look incredible." He drew a sharp breath as he took her in from up close. "Dare I say, even, the prettiest one here."

"Oh really? Prettier than you?" she said in a mockingly-surprised voice.

He scoffed dramatically. "Don't be ridiculous. I meant besides me. You know I only say that to make you feel better." They exchanged grins and she rolled her eyes routinely at him. He offered an arm to her. "Shall we?"

She accepted it obligingly, linking her arm through his, and they made their way to find their seats at the head table. The room around them seemed so concentrated in gold that, as they walked, it felt almost as if they were swimming in a molten ocean of it. Everything, from the stitching in the tablecloths, to the glittering lanterns, to the aurora in the night sky, glinted lavishly with the bright hue. Yet as Hermione smiled contentedly beside him, he thought that she outshined it all. 

They found their seats quickly and waited as a steady stream of smartly dressed sixth and seventh years poured through the doors.

"Remind me again," she said, catching his attention. "Your mother…"

"Isn't coming. I asked her and she said she had other plans for that evening. But, between you and me, I think it’s a load of rubbish. She probably just doesn't feel comfortable coming out to a public event. Not that I can blame her, but still, she didn't need to lie about it." Hermione nodded, her lips pursed tightly, evidently deep in thought. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," she said, too quickly. His eyebrows raised slightly but he didn't push the matter. He felt as though he knew what was bothering her without confirmation. Her parents weren't going to be there either. Taking her hint, he said nothing and instead reached a hand over to take hers reassuringly in his. They sat silently together as the six o'clock hour grew steadily closer. 

The time passed quickly and soon parents were taking seats next to their children at the long house tables before them. McGonagall made the same introductory speech, the one Draco had nearly memorized by the sixth evening, and then, with what was turning out to be her signature wand wave of whimsy, bid them to begin eating the food that appeared seconds later.

He and Hermione, though in charge of every other aspect of each of the evenings, had not been charged to assign food for any of the evenings. However, the house elves had done a particularly good job matching the theme of the evening with the fare that was served. Unusually sumptuous preparations appeared before them in the form of luxurious steaks, julienned vegetables, risottos, salads, and chowders. Draco helped himself to some of everything. The last time he remembered having food as extravagant as what lay before him was several years back, before the dark lord had returned, when his father used to host fabulous dinner parties.

He was eyeing his still quite loaded plate of food disdainfully with an uncomfortably distended stomach, wishing his appetite had not betrayed him so, when the time came for the parents to head on their way for a tour of the castle. As head boy and girl, he and Hermione were not required to go and instead remained to hang about the great hall in the group's absence. The benefit of working so hard before hand to plan the whole event was that now, no one expected anything of them. The prefects not guiding tours about the castle set about rearranging tables and setting out gift bags which left them free to simply sit and talk with McGonagall at the head table. 

They bantered and joked lightheartedly, sharing some particularly interesting planning sessions with the headmistress to pass the hour. When the desserts popped up in anticipation of the tour returns, he and Hermione excused themselves to the tables laden with sweets to sneak a few treats. They found also, on a glittering table nearby, champagne glasses labeled clearly with a sign that said "Please drink responsibly," which he felt particularly keen to ignore. They toasted genteelly and sipped on the bubbly beverages slowly.

Hermione had refilled their glasses for the fourth time by the time all the tours had returned. The slight drowsiness that came with mild intoxication was starting to buzz in his ears as they stood together towards the corner of the room. He was in the process of attempting to woo the drink away from her- as her words had begun to slur slightly- whispering in her ear and running his fingers down her arm, when a slight sound from behind pulled his attention away from his endeavor. 

Draco's turn found him staring at the pale, thin face of none other than Narcissa Malfoy. He paled immediately as he whirled about, extricating his arm from about Hermione's waist and nearly dropping his stemmed glass. He could almost feel Hermione tensing behind him.

"Mother!" he said, trying his best to disguise both the slight draw and panic in his voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight."

"I wasn't originally planning to be in attendance," she said in a cool, almost imperceptibly sharp tone as her eyes raked obtrusively over the girl behind him. Her face twitched and he noticed that features had tightened slightly. She turned her attention back on him, a faux gracious smile plastered on her lips. "But I thought I might come surprise you."

"Well, I'm very surprised." He stood awkwardly between his mother and Hermione, unsure of where to move or what to do. "Uh, mother, this is-" but Narcissa cut him off abruptly. 

"Miss Granger. Yes. I recognize her." He heard Hermione clear her throat behind him.

"Nice to see you Mrs. Malfoy." His fists clenched defensively as his mother stared coldly at Hermione, who now stood at his side.

"Indeed," his mother said cryptically, cocking an eyebrow. He noticed the dangerous calm invade her tone when she spoke next. "I do hope I haven't interrupted anything?"

"No," he shot quickly. "Not at all." 

He felt Hermione shift at his side. "I think I'm going to go check on the fifth year prefects. It was very nice to see you again Mrs. Malfoy." 

Narcissa inclined her head in what Draco recognized as false courtesy and stared icily at Hermione as she walked away. Moments later, she turned the same look of cool disapproval on him. Anger surged through him and his stance instantly became more rigid under the judgmental stare. It was a look strikingly reminiscent of his father. 

"I trust you are still focused on your school work and not on _other_ things?" she said, catching accusingly on the second to last word. Draco grit his teeth. 

"Yes."

"I should hope so," she said pointedly. "It would not do for you to become distracted before your exams."

Draco was livid. He'd never seen his mother act like this. It truly was as if her gaze and tone had been substituted with his father's.

"Hermione and I-" but she had cut him off almost as soon as he began.

"We'll discuss this later," she hissed dangerously. That would suit him just fine. "Before I depart, I came to pass on a message from your father." Draco could feel his knuckles turning white. Lucius Malfoy was about the last person he wanted to hear anything from at the moment. "He wanted you to know that if all goes well, he's looking forward to seeing you this summer after you've graduated."

"Lovely," Draco said with ill-disguised contempt. "Is that all?"

"Yes, I should think so. I need to be getting back to the manor. I think I left some of my paints open in the drawing room." This was a blatant lie, of course. His mother was far too particular to ever let something like that happen. There was little she loathed more than loose ends.

"Guess I'll be seeing you then." 

He regarded her coldly as she gave a curt, pretentious bow and turned swiftly to go, disappearing quickly among the crowd. Draco unclenched his sore fists and massaged his tender fingers gently. Still seething, he took off to look for Hermione. 

When he came to the place he was expecting her to be, he instead found a fifth year Hufflepuff prefect eyeing the champagne table suspiciously. "Don't even think about it, Davis." The boy turned to him, looking sheepish. 

But where was Hermione? If she wasn't manning the champagne table for potential abusers like Davis, where _had_ she gone? 

When another search of the room yielded nothing, he wandered out into the entrance hall looking for any sign of her. He wandered the corridors for a while, finally finding her in a hallway not far from the Gryffindor common room. She was sitting, legs tucked up under her long gown with her head and arms resting on her knees, on the windowsill of the same nook that she'd led him to earlier in the year. The same one where she'd first granted him a second chance. 

The first thing he noticed were the lines of tears on her cheeks. He approached somberly.

"You okay?"

She said nothing but simply continued to stare resolutely out of the window. He sat down, his shoulders hunched, on the exposed bit of windowsill beyond the hem of her dress and looked her over.

"I'm sorry about…" he paused, unsure of how he should describe the disaster that was his mother's unexpected visit. "…All _that_." Her eyes shifted momentarily from the window towards him and then straight back again.

"I've never seen her like that. She's never been so hostile. I don't know what's come over her."

"Well that's not so hard to figure out, is it? I'm sure even your mother's worst nightmares don't have you running your fingers over a mudblood." Draco flinched as if the word had physically hit him. The way the word sounded on her tongue was like the awful sound of metal grating against metal, like caustic soundwaves tearing at his inner ear.

"First of all, let's get one thing clear, I never want to hear that awful word again. So you can just delete it from your extensive vocabulary because you won't be needing it anymore. Secondly, while that's probably a part of it, as I'm sure she still hasn't entirely gotten over the whole blood purity thing, honestly, I still wouldn't expect anything like what she acted like tonight. She's not like that. She's always been a supportive mother, solely interested in whatever it is that makes me happy. I think she was just startled." 

"Well, whatever she thinks, she's not the only one I have to worry about," Hermione shot accusingly. Draco's eyebrows furrowed and he gaped at her in astonishment.

"Surely you don't think I give a damn what she thinks about us?"

"Actually, I do." Hermione turned to look at him finally. Both her tone and expression were sharp and hurt had etched its way into her features.

"Well then you can get that thought out of your pretty little head right now, Granger, because I don't. Not when it comes to you." His hands found hers even as she pulled them away from him and he searched her uncertain eyes. "She doesn't know a thing about you. Doesn't know that you're the single greatest thing to ever happen to me. That no one has ever made me as alive as you do. That you're so far beyond any standard she could ever have that if she knew you she'd be begging you to take me. So no. I couldn't care less about whatever skewed opinion she has of you."

Then, with a sound of disgust, he rose and began pacing. "Especially not after this stunt. Waltzing in like she's my father in cross-dress and acting as though the right sneer will intimidate me into repentance for an alleged sin. Well, I have news for her because I have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. If I want to kiss Hermione Granger, I'm going to kiss Hermione Granger!" 

The declaration echoed down through the empty stone corridor. Draco wondered absentmindedly if they could hear him downstairs. Surely the entirety of the Gryffindor dormitory had, but this didn't bother Draco in the slightest. They already knew anyways.

The slightest traces of a smile pulled at the edges of her lips. Draco sat down again, pulling her into a comforting embrace. 

"I don't want anyone to convince us that we can't be together. There's nothing anyone could tell me that would make me love you less."

She sighed against his chest, relinquishing her tensions and allowing herself to simply be held in his embrace. He breathed into her hair, pressing his lips to the top of her head. In the halls below them, Draco could hear the bustle of the evening dying down and she did not break away from him until long after their corridor had become silent.

Sitting back against the stone wall with a deep breath, she glanced at him with an almost nervous expression then murmured quietly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he waived, sitting forwards and putting his elbows on his knees. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I do," she persisted, and he glanced over to see her expression adamant. "You've been nothing but genuine and heartfelt and all I've managed to do is doubt your sincerity. I want you to know that I do trust you. And I don't want anyone to tear us apart either. Though I seem to be doing a fair job of it myself." She smiled feebly. "I'll try to do better."

"Seriously, don't worry about it. If there's anyone who still owes anybody apologies it's me, so let's call it even because I have a lot more to make up for than you do." He moved then, rising from the windowsill and looking down the empty hallway. "It's been a long day. What say I walk you to your dormitory?"

She nodded when he looked at her and moved to get up, then, as if thinking better of it, adopted a ponderous expression and inquired, "Well, are you?" 

He looked at her curiously, confused. 

"Am I what?"

"Going to kiss Hermione Granger?" She batted her eyelashes innocently and Draco's lips spread into a devilish smirk. 

"You know what? I think I will." Making true on his word, he swooped down, captured her lips with his, and kissed her over and over again as if he might never have the opportunity to do so again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not dead (except for on the inside maybe). Sorry for my latency, I'm really struggling with a few chapters beyond this one, so I've been trying to buy myself some time, but its just not coming out. Here's hoping I get it all sorted soon, though with my busy schedule, delays should be expected. Like I said, I won't leave you hanging indefinitely. Thank you in advance for your continued patience, I hope you will find the wait worthwhile.


End file.
